Sherlock, John and Rosie (and Mrs Hudson too)
by GizmoTrinket
Summary: Basically my re-write of season 4. I wrote the first two chapters before the new episodes and the rest after. Check chapter notes for warnings.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Warnings: Angst, unreliable narriartor (apply these to almost all the chapters). See my Tumblr: TheArtOne for visit me on AO3 for the prompts. :)

Prompts: #110 You never think about anyone but yourself. + #1 You should really take off that seasonal jumper.

* * *

 **Chapter 1:** **Ugly Christmas Jumper Looking for Loving Home **

"You never think about anyone but yourself."

John had said those words to Sherlock so many times they had nearly lost all meaning. At first it was just minor things like not doing the washing up or shopping. Then it was the experiments. Then it was the passive aggressive date sabotaging. Those words were on constant repeat after Sherlock's suicide. Apparent suicide. Fake suicide. The words were filled with grief instead of irritation. He felt guilty for them occasionally but they numbed the pain. John loved Sherlock. He loved him but Sherlock was incapable of returning the sentiment. Once the shock of seeing Sherlock alive wore off bitterness tainted the words.

The first person to say the words to him in the past decade or so was Mary. John loved Mary. It was different than the way he loved Sherlock. It wasn't as bitter, deep or all consuming. He thought that was better. He didn't have to worry about losing himself. Of being swept up in a tidal wave of someone so fantastic they eclipsed every part of him. He was just plain ordinary John Watson. Dr. Watson. He could be that with Mary. He didn't have to do anything other than dinner and a movie to make her happy. He chose her because he loved her and she was capable of loving him back.

But Mary shot Sherlock.

Then Sherlock shot Magnussen. Sherlock waited until he was sure that John wouldn't be able to take the blame. The consulting detective made sure that there was no way Mycroft could pin it on the doctor. John thought about that moment _more_ than the moment Sherlock took a dive off Bart's. In fact, it put a different perspective on The Fall. It made John less bitter and more depressed. Sherlock wasn't a murderer. He shouldn't have been capable of pulling the trigger. John regretted not listening to Sherlock talk about his adventure- no, trip, no, task- quest.

John shifted Rosamund to his other arm. She wrinkled her nose before settling.

Mary huffed angrily.

John tensed. He was used to people using passive aggressive huffy anger to make him change his mind. He was used to dealing with Sherlock's temper tantrums after all. Mary was not nearly as effective at that form of manipulation as the brunette was. Mostly because whenever Sherlock did it there was a sense of fun, comradely. There was no feeling of deep seated resentment in each glare.

Mary must have been able to read his thoughts. Or maybe she could just tell when he was thinking about Sherlock. It seemed to be the only time John smiled when he wasn't looking at Rosamund anymore.

"John, I-"

John cut her off. "No." He kept his gaze on his daughter to keep his anger in check.

Mary was undeterred. "Sherlock _cannot_ be Ros-"

John interrupted her again. "Of course he can." He kept his tone purposefully light because he knew it irritated her.

"Sherlock is not capable of caring for himself let alone-"

"Sherlock is capable of more than you know." John snapped. Then he winced. He showed weakness and he said Sherlock's name aloud. Both bad things to do.

Mary bared her teeth. John could practically see the demonic energy swirling around her.

Rosamund twitched. She was unsettled. John forced himself to relax. "He killed in cold blood to save us." John made sure that the members of "us" were kept purposefully vague. Honestly, John would have loved to see CAM remove Mary from the realm of the living. Maybe he wouldn't have loved to see Mary dead; but he wouldn't have been overly upset either. But Rosamund was an innocent and John was grateful Sherlock saved her. Even if saving Mary was required to do so. "I thought you'd appreciate that."

Rosamund looked at him reproachfully.

John sighed. Rosamund didn't understand reproach and couldn't see him to express the emotion if she could. He was projecting. "I'm not going to budge on this." John didn't know if he spoke that to Mary in regards to his choice of godfather or to Rosamund on his opinion regarding Mary.

It wouldn't be so bad if Mary would just let them be! John missed his friend. His _best_ friend. And Mary maintained that Sherlock didn't even notice John was gone. But John remembered last time Mary said that John's chair disappeared form the living room. John wondered if his chair (and it was his chair. It didn't matter who bought it, who owned it, even if it were dumped in a skip in a back alley in Russia it would _always_ be John's chair) was still blocking Sherlock's view to the kitchen or if it was wherever Sherlock took it when he thought John wouldn't be back.

"Everyone we know will be there. Imagine how I will feel." Mary abandoned her attempt to sway John through anger and switched to empathy.

That was a much worse tactic. "No one knows you shot him." Mentally John added, 'I think.' He wasn't really sure who all Sherlock told. He knew Mycroft didn't know because if Mycroft knew Mary wouldn't be glaring daggers at him and he wouldn't be holding her daughter, no, _their_ daughter against his chest in case she had real daggers.

"God, John! You know he would be useless at raising a baby! The only reason you're doing this is because you want to punish me."

John rolled his eyes. He knew lanky genius would be less than useless for the first week. After that Sherlock would learn. He'd probably be better at it than John after two. Besides, the reason he chose Sherlock was because John needed someone he trusted. John trusted four people: Molly, Greg, Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock. There was only one person John trusted enough to take care of his daughter and be able to handle the unique challenges of raising an ex-assassin's daughter.

"This is ridiculous! Greg has a gun. I know you don't trust anyone _I_ know but surely a man who works with the police department would be able to protect her. And Greg-"

The look John shot her must have landed because she didn't continue. He flexed his hand.

(-)

Once Rosamund was settled in her cot John settled into bed. Mary was already tucked under the covers and she turned her back to him with a huff. The only reason they were feeling like this was because of their fight. John knew it wouldn't last. They were actually repairing their relationship before John uttered the name that always set Mary off.

He needed to explain his reasoning. "Mary..." John paused to try to gather the words he needed.

"Save it."

John would have loved to, he _hated_ talking. But this was important. It was in Rosamund's best interest. "No, I don't think I've really explained why it has to be him."

"You don't have to."

"Greg won't be able to do everything _he_ can to save her." John went back to name avoidance.

Mary turned back to look into John's eyes. "You didn't read the drive. You don't even know what might be needed."

John frowned, that was true. Maybe it wasn't as bad as he'd imagined. But he couldn't take that chance. Sherlock made a vow and John was sure Sherlock would follow through.

"You're not going to give up on this, are you?"

The blond had made his decision. "No." No matter what happened, no matter what was said, no matter if everyone in the world knew Mary shot Sherlock it didn't matter.

Mary read the answer on John's overly expressive face. "I'm not going to let this ruin our marriage. It's only one ceremony. Nothing will happen to us. It won't be an issue."

John looked up and let out a breath. He was relieved. Still, somehow the victory felt hollow.

"But, God..." She took a deep breath before muttering, "You never think of anyone but yourself." John knew he was meant to hear it because she waited until John's eyes met hers before she continued. "If anything does happen and Sherlock ends up with Rosamund and he takes her to crime scenes I'll make your afterlife _very_ uncomfortable."

John was pretty sure his afterlife would be uncomfortable no matter what horrors Sherlock exposed Rosamund to.

(-)

It was Boxing Day when John walked up the steps to 221B. Rosamund had decided halfway through the trip that motion sickness would be the ideal response to riding in the underground. Rosamund didn't normally have motion sickness. The doctor wondered if Mary had somehow trained this behaviour into his daughter because she knew that he couldn't drive the car and wouldn't waste money on a taxi.

John still had a key. He took it from his pocket and spent so much time wondering if he was allowed to use it (and if that would offend anyone if he didn't) that Mrs. Hudson opened the door and jumped back in surprise. John apologized but he didn't know if she heard him because he could only get the words out between her excited exclamations. She was so thrilled to see the baby that he had to remind her that they were standing half-in half-out on the stoop.

As soon as the door shut John was in the process of taking off Rosamund's hat, occasionally wincing at the high pitched sounds women managed to produce whenever a baby was around and they were allowed to coo.

Heavy footfalls thundered down the stairs. "Mrs. Hudson?!" A deep voice bellowed.

John was stunned. Sherlock's voice always managed to be deeper than he remembered and the shout that sounded like an annoyed yell for attention but was actually a concerned question made him feel six years younger. Any thought John might have had, a greeting perhaps, was waylaid when the footfalls stopped and Sherlock could see the cause of commotion.

"John?" Sherlock's face was blank surprise and his voice was weak, as if he didn't believe that John was actually there.

Rosamund decided that sudden silence was uncomfortable and she needed to regain everyone's attention by letting out a single loud wail.

John smiled at Sherlock, then at Sherlock's bewildered expression. He looked like he had never seen an infant before in his life and instead of something new and interesting infants were something new and terrifying. John enjoyed the expression for a moment before responding to his daughter's cry to prevent a second. He took her out of her car seat and paused once he remembered the shoulder he usually held her against had her vomit over it. Before he could readjust Mrs. Hudson took her and swept into 221A.

"John?" Sherlock tried again, approaching slowly now that the infant was removed from the situation. Like a skittish colt.

"Hey." John greeted. He decided to let Sherlock come to him and took the opportunity to remove the dirty coat.

Sherlock walked up to him and paused.

John wondered what deductions were going through Sherlock's brilliant mind. He didn't seem to ever voice them aloud anymore. Sherlock's nose twitched and his expression turned to dismayed horror. The little wrinkle between Sherlock's eyebrows nearly made John laugh.

"What..." Sherlock paused and when John didn't respond he continued. "What are you _wearing_?!"

John had chosen this particular Christmas jumper (horrible by even John's standards) because he knew Sherlock would react to it. John had a whole bit worked out. But, as he looked at his friend noticing new lines, signs of time passing, he forgot the next part. Sherlock's face had gone from dismayed horror to stunned disgust. Sherlock's mouth had fallen open and he physically recoiled when he realized John was wearing the jumper _on purpose_. John met Sherlock's eyes and a little giggle slipped out. John was pretty sure Sherlock's laugh was in response to John's giggle and not because he understood the joke. Somehow that was funnier and soon they were both leaning against the wall trying to catch their breath for fits of laughter.

"John?" Sherlock finally asked once their eyes had met one too many times.

John tilted his head to 221A. "I want you to meet someone, Sherlock."

Mrs. Hudson must have been standing on the other side of her door, listening to them because she brought Rosamund to them before they'd moved.

" _Why_?"

John twitched and tired to cover it by taking his daughter from his ex-landlady. "What do you mean, why?"

Sherlock paused, his brows twisted and mouth twitching minutely.

The lightness in John's chest was replaced with lead. He realized Sherlock had never expected to meet the blond's daughter. Maybe, a little after the birth announcement, after the house settled into a routine with their newest member. After so long Sherlock must have thought that John hadn't contacted him because he didn't want them to meet. (There was a little bit of drama after a pile of photos of headless nuns were discovered stuffed under a mattress.)

"Sherl-" John whispered. He realized Sherlock wouldn't respond well to an outpouring of sentiment and stopped before changing gears. "Sherlock Holmes meet Rosamund Watson. Ro-"

Rosamund decided to let out a cry and John instinctively put her over his shoulder. Patting her back to soothe her. John wasn't perfectly acquainted to all of Rosamunds's cries yet but he was pretty sure-

"Blurghhhhhhh."

John felt wetness seep down the back of the jumper. Well, apparently that wasn't an 'I need affection' cry it was an 'I need to burp' cry.

"Hmmm..." Sherlock let out a hum of approval and started to interact with the tiny being in John's arms.

"She has your nose." Sherlock sounded surprised.

"Poor thing." John murmured. Mary's nose was much nicer.

Sherlock looked at John like he was mad before physically waving the distraction over his shoulder.

"You want to hold her?"

John was wrong. Sherlock was looking at John like he was mad now. Before it was his 'what goes through your funny little brain?' look. "I need to make her a bottle. She'll be hungry soon."

"I..." Sherlock looked around but Mrs. Hudson was missing.

"You'll need to get used to it."

"John?"

The shorter man didn't know how much Sherlock knew about baptisms and social structures. He had yet to find any rhyme or reason to Sherlock's knowledge base. Although, John knew that Sherlock knew about teddy bears in the garden. So he knew the rhyme?

"John."

Right. John realized he was already thinking about writing up this meeting. This wasn't a case! God, he didn't realize he missed his friend so much. He shook himself. "It's going to be awkward being her Godfather if you're too scared to touch her."

John wasn't surprised that approach broke his friend. And since it was the second time Sherlock had retreated to his mind palace when asked to take part in a social function John wasn't alarmed. "Mrs. Hudson?"

She appeared out of whatever corner she was watching from. "Oh, dear."

"Yeah, I don't think he expected that." John agreed.

"No, no, of course not. He'll be fine." She said dismissively. But she started fidgeting anxiously while looking at him.

John looked at Rosamund. Was she ok?

Rosamund was fast asleep in his arms. A small spit bubble filling with her breath every exhale and shrinking on every inhale. It was literally disgustingly adorable.

"What?" He asked.

Mrs. Hudson shifted uncomfortable and fiddled with her necklace. "Well... It's just..." She reached for the sleeping baby and John handed her over, alarmed now.

"What?" John demanded once she was settled.

"You should really take off that..." Her mouth twitched. "Ah... _seasonal_ jumper."

John broke into a grin when he realized she couldn't was having trouble not insulting the hideous thing. He removed it and they traded bundles.

"I don't think it can be cleaned." declared Mrs. Hudson and she vanished into her flat with it.

John waited a moment then giggled. She was trying to spare him and it was adorable. John knew because he was well versed in cleaning baby vomit at this point.

Sherlock shuddered back into his transport. "John?"

"Relax, Mrs. Hudson binned it." John explained.

Sherlock looked perplexed for a moment and John wondered what Sherlock had actually asked. Clearly it wasn't, 'Where'd the jumper of horrors disappear to?'

Since Sherlock didn't say anything John offered, "Ready to try holding her?" John knew that no one was ever _actually_ ready to try to hold a baby for the first time. Those that thought they were weren't because they didn't understand the gravity of the situation and those that thought they weren't weren't because they understood the gravity of the situation. John had found that if you just passed the parcel over like the other person had no choice they'd react instinctively.

When Sherlock realized John was giving him no choice he took her awkwardly. John made a few adjustments before letting go and although there was a lot of trepidation on Sherlock's face he brought her close to his chest gracefully.

She didn't even seem to notice the transfer.

After the shock of holding a tiny human wore off Sherlock coddled her naturally and actually cooed before he remembered he had an audience. Then the awkwardness returned.

"She'll need to eat." Mary had fed her before they left but Rosamund relocated most of it to her father's shoulder.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose and John guessed 221B was uninhabitable again. Mrs. Hudson must have been on a cleaning strike.

"C'mon in dears, she'll get cold staying by the door like that all night." Mrs. Hudson's voice called through her open door.

John picked up the diaper bag and the car seat and forced Sherlock to follow him while holding Rosamund.

(-)

"I see it went well." Mary said when father and daughter returned that night.

"Of course it did." John replied.

Mary's eyes softened and she shook her head. She retrieved Rosamund and went to settle her in her cot with an air of complete peace and serenity. Mary might have even been happy.

John frowned and wondered why it felt like she just got her way.

(-)(-)(-)

"Godfather? _Really_?" The nice detective inspector asked. No, he was promoted, wasn't he? Mrs. Hudson didn't remember and was too embarrassed to ask.

She fiddled with her jewellery and nodded.

"He ok?"

Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips and looked at him. He knew the answer to that.

He sighed. "I'll find something."

"Talk to Molly if there aren't any nice murders, ok? Maybe she can get him that brain he wants."

He looked askance at her and Mrs. Hudson chuckled internally. They said their goodbyes and she made her way upstairs. The chuckles caused by surprising the attractive man yet again after all these years died when she settled a cup of tea next to Sherlock, clinking the spoon against a beaker to get his attention.

He startled out of his mind palace and looked at her. Blinking twice in mute request.

"Your detective friend was here." Before he could get too mortified she continued. "I stopped him at the front door. Told him to only come back when he had good murder."

Sherlock physically drooped when the tension released. Then he recovered himself. "Good." He frowned. "I'm glad someone around here appreciates not wasting my time with nonsense."

"Of course." Mrs. Hudson smiled. He tried so hard, but it wasn't a proper thank you and he knew it. "But, dear..."

He tensed up again.

"You should really take off that seasonal jumper." She made sure she was half out the door and her back turned when she said that last bit. She would hate to see his reaction. Hopefully his adopted father or sister would have something soon. A mother could only do so much.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Warnings: Blood, hospital stuff, self-harm (not exactly but kinda), Sherlock being Sherlock.

Prompts: #2 Inappropriate gifts: benefits and drawbacks + writing prompt #141: "get a grip, man. She's just a girl." "That's the thing. She's not _just a girl._ She's never been _just_ _a girl_."

* * *

 **Chapter 2:** **An Inappropriate Gift was the Only Appropriate Gift for the Situation**

Sherlock frowned. He had been researching godparents and there was a lot of information. The main point, as far as he could see, was to name someone to help raise the child if anything happened to the parents. He was the very last person he'd pick to raise a child or help the child with their religious growth throughout their life. That second part was apparently part of a godparent's duties. It was INSANITY.

Why did John choose him?

Lestrade and Molly had tried to distract Sherlock with cases and thumbs to no avail. How could he focus on The Work with this hanging over his head? He tried talking to Molly about it. Apparently she was chosen as the godmother. She told him he really didn't have to do anything other than show up to the baptism, follow instructions and bring a gift. He had a bunch of questions. What about after? How often was he expected to see Rosamund? What was expected of him when he saw her? Would he be expected to do anything religious? Wikipedia said he needed to take an interest in the child's upbringing and personal development. What did that mean? He was pretty sure he wasn't allowed to take the scientific interest he wanted to: measuring growth, marking milestones, teaching, studying the spaw- no, child's, no- Rosemund's reactions to each person in depth...

He shook himself. John would say what he wanted Sherlock to do. It seemed that some godparents never saw some of the children after they were baptised and being chosen could just be seen as an honorary position. So this might be John's way of saying "thank you" for getting rid of Magnussen. After all, John probably didn't want Sherlock too involved. If John did he would have called him when Rosamund was born so Sherlock could get a good baseline for study.

What the brunette needed to worry about first was a gift. He was pretty sure no matter what gift he got it would be considered inappropriate. John told him outright not to get any gifts for his wedding.

"Just you showing up and behaving will be enough." John had said. Mary agreed. Or, at least she didn't argue.

Sherlock wasn't sure he managed to "behave" but he saved John's ex-boyfri-, ex-commander, ex- _whatever_ and prevented John more emotional pain. That was probably a better present than the waltz.

Asking for another interesting murder or attempted murder at this function would be too much. He couldn't plan one nor could he count on one happening. Considering the mother's background it wasn't exactly unlikely. But John hadn't said no gifts and the invitation he'd gotten from Mary hadn't either. Not even the handwritten note she included. The waltz must have been considered a nice appropriate gift. Sherlock was equal parts relieved and disappointed he couldn't just write another piece of music without seeming boring.

Maybe he should just get something he knew was inappropriate? That was probably what everyone wanted. Sherlock knew John wasn't very religious. The consulting detective was surprised they were having a baptism. Oddly enough Mary was the more religious of the two so it was probably her doing. He wondered why she allowed John to choose him as a godparent. She was his current commander and if she had really wanted she would have found a way to convince John to not include him. Maybe this whole thing was her idea, like the best man. He would have been able to weasel out of the wedding if he hadn't had such an important part in it.

As far as he could see the point of all gatherings was to enjoy other people's company. Sherlock was not someone invited when people wanted to enjoy things. Usually he was invited to give the other people something to gossip about or as a distraction. Sometimes he was invited so people had a universal person to hate; that way their own petty problems were put to the side and they could enjoy the comrade of having a common enemy.

A lot of gatherings with babies, like baby showers (he wasn't invited to one for Rosamund) were so the family could get all the expensive things that went into adding a new member to the family. Therefore, the family didn't expect him to provide a useful gift.

Sherlock decided to make a mental list:

Inappropriate gifts: Pros and Cons

Pros:

Well, he'd already thought of all the pros.

Cons:

This was the part Sherlock needed to focus on. If he got a _really_ inappropriate gift people might think he's more of a freak. But, the people who were going to be there either already knew what he was like or were irrelevant so Sherlock didn't care what they thought. If he got a body part they might deem him unworthy of seeing the child which would be a mixed blessing. But, he was expected to take over if something happened to John and Mary. And... if Sherlock was being honest with himself (which he really hated to do) if something happened to John the consulting detective knew he'd do anything possible to protect the other man's progeny but he'd never have the opportunity. Mary would disappear with the child. If something happened to Mary John would rely on Molly and Sherlock to help raise Mary's baby. Sherlock was positive he would be terrible at it but he would do anything to help John, to see John, to be with J-

STOP it!

If Sherlock got something seriously inappropriate people would talk (they do little else) and they might not let him near the baby ever again. Maybe _this_ was why he was invited. So he'd never be allowed near the child and if he wasn't allowed near the child he'd never see John in the next two decades and by then John will have forgotten all about him. John wouldn't even feel guilty or anything. It was the best thing for Rosamund, after all.

The cons outweighed the pros so he had to get an appropriate gift. And he needed to act all... normal. Urgh! So _boring_. Well, not boring. Stressful.

Sherlock's fingers glided over his phone's screen.

To: Lestrade

 _What is an appropriate gift for a baptism? SH_

Lestrade replied almost immediately.

 _I don't know. Something for the kid I guess._

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

 _Obviously. But what? SH_

His phone pinged after enough time for Sherlock to know Lestrade tried to think but didn't try very hard.

 _A blanket? Something pink?_

Dull! Besides, if he got something as mundane as a blanket people would probably think he dosed it with something or planned on suffocating the child with it. And _pink, really?!_ No.

 _What are you getting? SH_

The reply was quick.

 _Haven't gotten anything yet. Haven't thought about it._

Sherlock sighed. He tried Molly next. After two and a half hours of rejected ideas she suggested a kitten. A kitten! She was clearly insane! His response to that idea caused her to stop responding to his texts. He could have gone to Bart's and asked in person but he really didn't want to leave the flat until this was settled.

He called down for Mrs. Hudson but she didn't respond. He didn't hear the telly so he figured she must be out.

Sherlock tried the internet next. The first result was a donation to a children's hospital. That was a worse idea than a kitten. The next few sites were all religious. Bibles, cross necklaces and other religious paraphernalia. That would be a little hypocritical (especially if he couldn't keep himself from spewing the lecture on the idiocy of various religious customs he was very carefully not constructing in his mind).

But, he was strangely drawn to the idea of jewellery. If John never saw him again after this then maybe he'd keep the jewellery for the baby, if it was something nice. But jewellery wasn't really useful. John had commented he liked the waltz but he didn't really know what to do with it after. Sherlock suspected Mary binned it.

Sherlock had a vision of Rosamund's first day of school. She was being bullied but she drew strength from her pendant, it was engraved and she knew that someone would always look out for her.

He shook himself from the odd daydream.

An engraved pendant. How sentimental! It wouldn't really be useful either. What could he get that would be useful? She was too young for lock picks or a pocket knife. Really the only bad thing that could happen to her at her age would be being kidnapped.

The brunette couldn't get her a tracking device... Could he? No, that would be completely inappropriate. Useful though. He would be first person John would turn to if Rosamund went missing and finding her would be so easy if she had something the consulting detetive could activate then follow.

He saw some customizable crosses that had birthstones. If he got the jewellery he could engrave it and people would be so focused on the out of character gift they'd ignore anything else. Yes, Sherlock was sure a tracking device would be completely socially inappropriate (but logically the most appropriate) and if no one but him knew what the gift really was...

It was _perfect_.

There was a jeweller who owed him a favour. He could get something custom made. No nickel, in case she was allergic. Not too heavy. Maybe titanium for durability? But titanium got dirty and faded quickly. Mary and John couldn't be dragging it to the cleaners all the time. Platinum? The jeweller would have ideas. The cross just needed to be unique and interesting so John and Mary would keep it and so Rosamund would keep it on her as she aged. Nothing she'd get teased for.

He'd never designed anything. Again, the jeweller's preview.

What he also needed was a tracking device that would last. He couldn't guarantee he'd be there to change out batteries. He also couldn't count on someone else to change out batteries. If it came with unlimited cleaning the jeweller could change out the batteries but there was no guarantee that John and Mary would stay close. They could move anywhere and wouldn't travel just for a free cleaning.

Sherlock's hands moved from their thinking position to his phone.

To: Fatty

 _I require assistance. SH_

Mycroft's reply was immediate.

 _What's wrong? Do you have a list? Where are you? MH_

Sherlock scowled.

 _I haven't taken anything. Thank you for your faith in me. SH_

Mycroft was obiviously confused by this as it took him ages to reply.

 _Then why are you bothering me? I'm busy. MH_

Sherlock was tempted to tease his brother. Something about his weight and cake but he decided against it. If he was nice maybe Mycroft wouldn't be too horrible about helping him.

 _I am creating a gift for the baptism and I require a device you have access to. SH_

 _To which you have access. MH_

 _Does that mean you'll help? SH_

Sherlock left out the second half of his question ( _for once instead of being difficult and generally useless_ ) in the spirit of being nice.

 _What do you need exactly? MH_

Sherlock explained his plan and Mycroft denied him access to the tracking device they gave MI6 agents going undercover for long missions. Sherlock had one implanted in his upper thigh (it was how Mycroft was able to track him down while he was "dead") but he wanted one specifically made for Rosamund. Sherlock decided that was silly and sentimental. He wasn't planning on working for his brother ever again and if he did Mycroft would get him another tracker.

He knew approximately where the device was. But it was very small and might have moved in the years since it was injected into his thigh.

Sherlock dug out a high powered metal detector he acquired once while he was bored and swept his leg. Sherlock found the tiny device's approximate location but there was no real way to tell the depth. Sherlock considered the risk versus reward. He couldn't go steal one now, Fatcroft would be watching for that. He didn't know where else to find an activateable (and therefore untraceable) tracking device half the size of a grain of rice that didn't require batteries for at least twenty years. Sherlock wasn't a doctor but he knew there went any major veins where it was...

He cleaned a scalpel.

(-)

To: Molly

 _I require assistance. SH_

No response.

To: Lestrade

 _I require assistance. SH_

The response was quick.

 _What now?_

Sherlock was having trouble typing with the amount of blood on his hands. He made a mental note to compare the reactivity issues in various smart phones caused by blood versus water.

 _I miss calculated the blood loss issue s sh_

Well, he could blame that text on the light headedness. He stared at the hateful typos until Lestrade responded.

 _What? Are you ok? Where are you?_

Sherlock started typing and immediately gave up on correcting anything.

 _livingroom not as shuch may need amublance ss h_

Maybe he should turn autocorrect back on?

 _Hold on Sherlock. Help is on the way._

'Oh, well. That's good.' Sherlock thought and closed his eyes.

(-)

Sherlock woke up in the ambulance but they sent (drugged) him back under. He suspected because he was "being difficult."

He woke up in a private room next.

"Want to tell me what the hell you thought you were doing?" Lestrade was in a chair next to the bed.

Sherlock frowned. He was having trouble focusing. "Needed to get the thing for the gift." He explained.

"The baptism gift? For John's daughter?"

"Obviously!" Sherlock huffed.

"It was in your leg? The thing you needed?" Lestrade paused but only to draw breath. "Why did you try to get it out yourself?"

Sherlock was starting to come around properly and he knew he made a mistake talking about the gift. If Lestrade opened his mouth and told anyone anything it would be more than a bit not good. "What? The leg thing? No, don't be stupid Lestrade. That was an experiment."

"I'm not stupid and I'm not going to fall for that. I don't know what you think you were doing but you nearly died. You might have crippled yourself." That was the problem with Lestrade. Every once in a while he was observant. Usually at the worst times.

"Irrelevant."

"Irrelevant?!" Lestrade was flabbergasted. "How?!" He sighed when Sherlock didn't respond. "Well, at least you're ok. And hopefully you accomplished whatever it was you thought you were doing."

Sherlock decided to be completely honest. He'd probably regret it later but if it made Lestrade get on his side against Mycroft it'd be worth it. "I didn't. Once I'm home I'll have to try again."

They argued back and forth about what Sherlock was allowed to do. Lestrade telling him he couldn't do something was just making him want to do it more.

Finally, Lestrade broke. "Get a grip man! She's just a girl."

"That's the thing. She's not _just_ _a girl_. She's never been _just_ _a girl_." Sherlock snapped in response. He cursed whatever painkillers were making him so candid.

"Yeah." Lestrade's face fell. He looked older than his years and sad. "Yeah, I know."

Sherlock winced. Was he that transparent?

Mycroft's entrance saved him from responding.

Sherlock glared at his older brother.

Said brother gave a very put upon sigh. "Fine. I'll get you what you need."

"Well, that's settled. You could have saved us this whole ordeal if you'd done so in the first place." Sherlock replied to start the fight Mycroft tired to sidestep.

Lestrade blinked between the two of them. "You mean you... Did you know he'd do this?"

"I had hoped he would be reasonable." Mycroft turned to the silver haired man and pretended Sherlock wasn't in the room.

"God, I thought you were the smart one!" Lestrade clapped his hands over his mouth as soon as the words were out. It was a bad idea to insult people with power.

Sherlock laughed.

"I _am_ the smart one." Mycroft argued, the tone was intended to be sharp but was actually rather pouty.

Sherlock didn't want to take pity on his brother. Unfortunately, he knew the trials of loving someone who would never return the sentiment. "Then go get what I need and leave me alone." he growled, trying to allow his brother a quick exit.

"Well, I'm glad I can tell Mummy you'll recover fully. I was hoping this near death experience would change your attitude..." Mycroft was grasping at straws. Trying to find any excuse to stay.

Sherlock snorted. Couldn't he hear the steps coming to the room? Idiot.

Molly entered and immediately had Lestrade's full attention. Unfortunately she didn't even acknowledge him until Sherlock had greeted her and assured her he would be fine. She lamented about how guilty she felt for not answering his text.

The consulting detective lost interest in her ramblings and filtered.

Mycroft looked at everyone in the room, each pining for someone unattainable (and/or clueless). Sherlock watched him and they shared a look. "You get yourself in the most ridiculous situations, brother mine."

"Mmm." Sherlock agreed. "Something we have in common."

"Yes." Mycroft did the slimy smirk he wore whenever the youngest sibling managed to win a conversation. "I'll leave what you need at your residence. Along with instructions that should help your... cause."

Sherlock refused to thank him. "If it's not too much trouble. I mean, I don't _need_ you to get me one." He knew he'd owe his brother a favour after this. If Mycroft had been smarter, Sherlock mused, he'd have bartered before Sherlock was injured and could counter with Mummy's wrath.

Anthea appeared, showed Mycroft something on her mobile and they left to do their "important" business.

A few well placed deductions about his nurse and Sherlock was encouraged (drugged) to sleep. The next day he discharged himself. He needed a cane to walk until his leg healed and he hobbled up the stairs with the traditional medical aluminium crutch. The first thing he did was throw the vile device out the window to the dismay of the pedestrians below. When he realized he would need it to get back up the stairs he ordered a wood one with a "hidden" sword. Sherlock charged it, the fee for express overnight shipping and a few miscellaneous chemicals to Mycroft's credit card.

When Mycroft saw it he would have three choices, confront his brother and allow Sherlock grounds to tease him (Mycroft's umbrella wasn't allowed to contain a hidden sword and nothing he said could convince his superiors to change their minds), cancel the transaction which would result in Sherlock reordering with a bigger total each time until he either cancelled the card (Sherlock had several others) and started a war that would result in Sherlock teasing the fat git anyway or just letting it go.

Mrs. Hudson brought the package up for him the next day.

(-)

"What should the engraving say?" His jeweller asked.

They'd been working on the pendant design for more than 70 hours over several days. Sherlock didn't bother coming up with this part until he knew how big it would be. Sherlock was allowed ten characters (including spaces) and he had no idea what to do with them.

The jeweller seemed to understand. "What do you want to convey?"

That was easy. "That she's loved... and will always be safe."

"Hmmm..." The jeweller mused before shaking his head. "Well, think about it. It's the last part anyway."

Sherlock thanked him. It was a show of patience on both parts to get this piece designed but the man was gifted in his craft and Sherlock was sure it would be perfect.

(-)

"Oh, you didn't have to get anything." Mary was using that voice that indicated she was only saying the words due to stupid social constructs that everyone knew were stupid followed anyway.

Sherlock wasn't sure what the socially correct response was so he kept silent.

Mary pulled the ribbon from the top opened the velvet box. She took a look at the pendant before flipping it over then dismissed it.

John took it from the table. "Jewellery?" He seemed surprised.

"Yes. I have various chains length underneath for when she grows. The one attached is for her ankle. But if you prefer her to wear it on her wrist it's there." Sherlock said. He hoped they'd put it on her now. There weren't any exclamations of beauty or anything and he was starting to wonder if he did something wrong.

John took it out and studied it. He flipped it over and saw the engraving. He looked confused and pained.

Sherlock was now positive he'd made a mistake. "If you don't like it I can get something else..."

"No, no. It's perfect." John swallowed. "Thank you." He asked Mary for the wrist chain.

"It's safe, right?" Mary asked, holding the box out of her husband's reach.

"Of course! I thought of everything." Sherlock was insulted. What, did they think he had it coated in lead?

"What does it say?" Molly asked.

"Be safe" John swallowed. "Then there's a heart."

There were many "Awwww"s and "That's so sweet!"s.

Sherlock tried to explain, saying that since Rosemund's name implied she was a protector like her father (though of horses, or other animals since it was unlikely she'd be around horses all that often...) someone needed to look after her. He chose a wing to imply a guardian angel since this was a religious affair and a cross would be rather blasphemous coming from him. He wanted her to know that someone would always be there for her no matter what and that people loved her unconditionally when things got difficult. The gem was turquoise, the December birthstone for both the US and Britain. And, since this whole thing was ridiculous he decided to explain why turquoise was considered an "All Types of Protection" stone for multiple religions. Personally, he this seemed appropriate because it was insoluble in all solutions (he'd personally verified given the time allotted) except heated hydrochloric acid.

Sherlock purposefully neglected to mention that the turquoise was hollow and had a tracking device sealed inside that no-one save Mycroft and the consulting detective had the codes to activate therefore making it a literal all types of protection stone. The female population seemed to think his ramblings were the sweetest thing they'd ever heard and wouldn't shut up about it. At one point Mrs. Hudson burst out in tears and hugged him. He was tempted more than once to reveal that his gift wasn't _actually_ sentimental nonsense.

Mary thought it was too unsafe to have the charm on Rosamund's wrist ("She could choke on it!") so John attached it to her ankle.

While everyone was focused on that process Sherlock escaped as quickly as his cane would allow. He smoked a cigarette and decided that he did better than expected and the only thing he could accomplish now was bollixing it all up. He knew John would think it was rude for him to leave without saying goodbye but if the brunette returned he'd have to deal with people taking offence at his relatively harmless habit. Sherlock remembered some of the arguments John and he had over the lingering smell alone. He wasn't sure what would be worse, if John snapped at him or if he said nothing.

His fingers found his phone.

To: John

 _So glad you both liked my gift. Contact me anytime for anything. SH_

It was probably too much but Sherlock hit send anyway. He hailed a taxi and returned to 221B.

(-)(-)(-)

Mary frowned when the lanky moron refused to shut up. Everyone present would know beyond a doubt that Sherlock cared for her child. Rosamund had enough people targeting her because of her parents (yes, John too) and she didn't need all the people who wanted to hurt Sherlock coming after her too.

The cell phone in John's pocket pinged shortly after Sherlock disappeared. Mary lifted it from him while he was distracted and read it.

Scowling she typed a response.

 _It was very sweet and all but rather dangerous to show your hand like that. MW_

Mary hit send knowing that at least Sherlock would take steps to fix his mistake and maybe inadvertently help her in the process. She then deleted the text from John's phone and returned the device so John would remain clueless.

Later, while she was watching John hold Rosamund, the infant sleeping soundly in his arms, she wondered if she could trust Sherlock to help her if she told him everything.

* * *

A/N: If you see anything wrong, spelling or grammar errors or story continuity problems please let me know. :)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So, I wrote this just after the season 4 finale and I may have been (and still be tbh) slightly bitter. Prompts can be found at the end this time to avoid spoilers. **Warnings** : attempted infidelity, misogyny, misandry, homophobia, bi-phobia, canon typical violence and everyone just being a bit not good.

* * *

 **Chapter 3: I Love You**

The baptism was yesterday. Sherlock was the only good point in the entire thing. It was too bad he didn't stay but it was probably good he left when he did. Mary's ex-boyfriend showed up and apparently Sherlock had told him he was allowed three supervised visits a year. John overheard him talking to Mary about "that psychopath best man" and actively eavesdropped on the rest of the conversation.

John wasn't sure how he felt about the situation. Sherlock was possessive and jealous of the few friends he had, John more than most. It was irritating at the best of times. But, this was something different. He was pretty sure Sherlock wasn't trying to keep him away from Mary because Sherlock said that before the wedding. Wouldn't he want Mary hanging out with her friends so John would be available to spend time with him?

The part he was trying very hard not to think about (and was therefore spending most of his time pondering) was that the man was Mary's ex and that Mary had a type. John tried not to be jealous and possessive (because to be honest he was worse about it than Sherlock) but he couldn't help but think that the reason Sherlock wanted to keep Mary and the man separate was in deference to John. The man was nervous but risked "a psychopath's" wrath to see Mary on an important day.

He knew Sherlock said Rosamund had John's nose. But there was something else there too. Something he left unsaid, something he dismissed with a wave.

John loved Mary. But, he didn't trust her.

And there was something Sherlock didn't know. One of those things he missed. Obviously Sherlock had deduced that John and Mary were having unprotected sex that could result in pregnancy. There was no other reason (that John could see) for Sherlock to start spouting pregnancy statistics. John told the genius to shut up not because he didn't want anyone to overhear their conversation (well, that was part of it) but because he never expected to be a father. But, Sherlock didn't know that John was basically sterile and John wanted him quiet because the blond had just married a woman that was probably pregnant with someone else's child.

He probably could have had the marriage annulled. He probably should have demanded a paternity test.

But, what if the child was his? What sort of start to a marriage was that? "Hey, I was pretty sure I was sterile, there was a whole big drama thing that happened in Afghanistan and long story short a bunch of soldiers from my unit are. I meet those criteria and I was wondering if you'd go ahead and agree to this test because it'll be easier to annul this marriage sooner rather than later?" Yeah, right. John was sure if he went and tested his sperm count Mary would know instantly and it wouldn't be hard to figure out why John ordered the test out of the blue. Plus he wasn't even sure his case was grounds for annulment. Sherlock never doubted Rosamund's paternity and Sherlock would have considered it, right? And Sherlock couldn't keep anything to himself. So, John never looked to see if that was a law and he never confronted his wife.

The blond man watched his wife interact with the other blond man and he tried not to think.

And he thought.

(-)

If a hospital needed to do genetic testing and it turned out the assumed father was not the biological father of a child they were legally required to tell the man.

John shook off the thought. It wasn't relevant. Rosie was healthy.

(-)

Every time John's phone received a text he'd look immediately. And he was always disappointed it wasn't from Sherlock. John had gotten a text when Sherlock decided to leave the gathering early. John read it often. It seemed at odds with the man he thought he knew. The Sherlock John knew wouldn't have bought a baptism gift, especially sentimental jewellery. That woman Sherlock was using to get into Magnussen's office said she was the only one who knew him. John was furious, that was his line!

But, as he worried the wing charm between his fingers John wondered if she was right. Did Janine see Sherlock's softer side? The side he didn't show anyone. Didn't show John? Well, Sherlock probably tried to but John was just too blind to see it. Sherlock was so sweet to Mrs. Hudson. _"Hudders."_

The high functioning sociopath with had no emotions, who couldn't love had kissed his landlady goodbye before he left to go on a case the day John shot the cabbie.

"I don't understand." John sighed to his child.

"You should get that on a shirt." Mary quipped from behind.

John focused on breathing. That... that was... Maybe Mary just picked it up from some TV show? Maybe Magnussen did too? Maybe this was some common internet saying he never heard because he was rubbish with technology.

Doubtful.

"Isn't Rosamund beautiful?" John asked for a lack of anything else to say.

"Of course she is! She's my daughter, after all." Mary chuckled at her joke and plucked the child from her John's arms.

Rosamund wrinkled her face, not appreciating being woken.

"You should let her sleep." John admonished. "She hardly slept at all last night." He knew, he had to keep getting up.

"If I let her sleep now she won't be tired tonight." Mary countered.

John wasn't sure that was a good approach but his parents had put him and Harry to sleep with some scotch and he turned out ok. So he didn't say anything.

The family moved into the living room and John turned on the telly so he wouldn't have to talk.

 _"You should get that on a shirt." "You should get that on a shirt."_ _"You should get that on a shirt."_ Alternating between Magnussen's voice and Mary's. It was unsettling.

John had considered the words he spoke to Mary at Sherlock's parent's house carefully. "The problems of your future are my privilege." Was not, in fact, a vow of forgiveness and safety. It could be taken that way if one were inclined to believe John was a man capable of forgiveness. He was, he knew, but the forgiveness seemed to only apply to one person. Sherlock. Sherlock was the only person who betrayed John so thoroughly and though John couldn't see Sherlock the same anymore he still trusted him. He trusted Sherlock with his life.

That was probably the difference. Sherlock "killed" himself to save his friends. Sherlock doomed himself to save the people John cared about. John wasn't sure Sherlock even liked Mary, (and he was quite sure Mary didn't care for Sherlock, even though she said she did) but John was positive Sherlock would protect her life just as fiercely as John's.

No, the problems of Mary's future were, at that moment, John and Mycroft. John was tempted more often than not to text the "minor government official" and explain what he knew. A quick call to Mummy would probably do the job more effectively. Mary had enemies and John knew Mycroft could find them easily.

But Rosamund might get caught in the crossfire. And, he didn't want to take away her mother. Even if he wasn't her father. Especially if he wasn't her father.

It was a slow torment.

Roasmund's eyes were the generic blue all babies were born with. And John didn't have unique eyes like Sherlock, eyes that would be a dead giveaway of paternity.

And he didn't think Rosamund had his nose.

He didn't think she had Mary's nose either.

"The faucet is leaking again." Mary nagged.

"Ugh." John grunted. He didn't really care if the faucet leaked or if the garden was overgrown with weeds or if the lawn needed mowed. He didn't care much for owning a house. Living in a flat might be annoying what with noisy neighbours (the married ones could get quite loud when they climaxed and that was nothing compared to his and Sherlock rows and the genius's boredom) but living there was so much easier. So much closer to work. Closer to everything. He'd had to fix a leak in the roof yesterday and he didn't want to deal with any other leaks after that disaster.

But now that it was brought to his attention he could hear it over the show.

Drip, drip, drip.

A small annoyance that wouldn't go away until it was dealt with. It'd just keep dripping. Keep making noise. Keep nagging him until he dealt with it.

Much like the worry of his child's paternity.

Maybe he could talk to Sherlock about it, anything he noticed, anything he suspected away from Mary if he went on a case. Even if he chickened out and didn't say a word about Rosamund running after some criminals would be good. Refreshing. He reached for his mobile.

To: Sherlock

 _Figure anything out about Moriarty?_

There was no immediate reply so John turned his attention back to the tele.

Drip, drip, drip.

John ground his teeth.

Drip, drip, drip.

Sherlock must be on a case. It never took him this long to reply.

Drip, drip, drip.

Even if Sherlock suspected anything about Rosamund's paternity it wouldn't be proof. Without proof he couldn't do anything. Wouldn't do anything.

Drip, drip, drip.

Rosamund started crying. Mary shushed her and started feeding her.

Drip, drip, drip.

He opened his mobile again.

To: Mike

 _You want to grab a pint?_

Mike replied quickly.

 _Please. Where should we meet?_

John frowned at the response. That wasn't right. He had expected Mike to say no or something. It was the 30th, a Friday, so he didn't have the excuse of work but Mike liked to have Friday nights to himself. John remembered from when they were seeing each other, before he stupidly called it off out of internal (and external) homophobia and later Mike met his wife.

Mike should be hanging out with his wife. Whenever John needed to go out on Friday Mike said no so John went with Lestrade instead.

He couldn't text quickly enough to ask what was wrong. Mike would talk about it after a few beers anyway. So John texted the address of a nearby pub. Mike countered with one closer to him and they met someplace in the middle.

(-)

"She was killing me." Mike said.

John couldn't believe it. "But, a divorce? You've been together for ages! You couldn't work it out?"

Mike looked at him. "She kept trying to change me. Never could accept that I'd dated men. Said I needed to repent. I wasn't allowed to talk about finding other men attractive. She told me since I married her I was straight. Once she saw the divorce papers she said I was just closeted. It wasn't that we weren't right for each other, no. It was because I was a, and I'm quoting her here, "fucking faggot"."

"Jesus Christ!" John said.

Mike shrugged and went to order another round.

John knew the same thing would happen to him if he divorced Mary. It wouldn't be Mary lobbing the insult at him though. John knew Mary found women as attractive, if not more so than men. They didn't talk about it. Mary teased him about being bi sometimes. But they were both in the same boat and neither of them wanted to rock it too much.

It'd be his co-workers, some of the people at the yard and Harry. His sister didn't believe people could be interested in both sexes. Probably the press too if he started blogging again.

Mike returned with a pint apiece. "Cheers."

John raised his glass and took a drink before setting it aside. "Mike, I wanted to ask you something. I know I can trust you and this needs to stay between us."

"Of course." The other man agreed.

John thanked his lucky stars Mike never held a grudge about their breakup. Neither of them were tipsy yet but John still felt this was something he shouldn't mince words about. "I don't think Rosamund is mine."

"Oh." Mike shifted uneasily.

"Yeah." John said, seeing his friend was uncomfortable with the blond doctor's bluntness. He suddenly regretted involving the other doctor in this, but it would kill John to keep wondering. "It's eating at me, and I just have to know."

Mike nodded eyes distant as he thought. "Well, what do you want to do?"

That was the big question. John really couldn't answer without explaining everything so he unloaded all his problems on a man going through a messy divorce. It felt wonderful to get everything off his chest. He couldn't do so in therapy since he knew he would basically be talking to Mycroft. John explained his suspicions at the wedding, how he dismissed them because Sherlock didn't say anything. How Mary shot Sherlock and after calming Mike down from that surprise (and explaining that he couldn't just leave his child in the sole care of an assassin and the only way to be safe was to take her back) he explained why this needed to be handled so carefully.

"And I thought my marriage was messed up." Mike muttered when John was done.

John cringed with the reminder of how badly he was using his friend. "You don't have to do anything. I'll figure something out."

"No." Mike said after a long pull of his drink. "I can't imagine being in your situation. I'll help any way I can."

When both pints were empty a plan had been made. John was surprised at the simplicity of it all. It was his turn to buy so he went to buy the drinks. When he returned he stared at the discoloured skin on his friend's ring finger.

Mike caught him at it.

"Sorry." John winced.

"Don't be." Mike smiled. "It's actually a huge relief."

"Really?" John was incredulous.

"Yeah. I kept eating every time something was wrong and I gained all this weight. Emotionally I was so exhausted I couldn't go to the gym. Plus, you know, she'd get all worked up about me getting all sweaty with a bunch of guys." He shook his head and took a drink. "It was a bad relationship. It's hard, you know, I miss her. Especially on Fridays. But, I'm going to be happier without her. I can already tell. I've lost five pounds!" He laughed.

 _"Mary and I think seven."_ The deep baritone voice taunted in his memory. John shook himself but another memory came to him. _"You've put on three pounds."_ Molly argued two and a half. And Moriarty was a true psychopath.

"John?"

"Sorry." John said. "You do look better." John worried the compliment was too little too late but Mike didn't seem to care.

"Honestly when I took you to Sherlock I thought I'd be attending a wedding in a week, unless you eloped."

John choked. "No! No, Sherlock set me straight first opportunity."

Mike laughed at the unintentional pun. "Was it the body parts? I've always thought that was a bit odd."

"What? No!" John denied. "No, it wasn't that! Once he managed to keep the experiments away from the food it was ok. No, I..." John cleared his throat and blushed. "I kinda hit on him over diner and he explained he was asexual. So... yeah." John shrugged and felt he hadn't had enough alcohol to have this conversation.

"What?!" Mike started chuckling. "Sherlock? Asexual?" He laughed.

John frowned. "He said he appreciated my interest but he was married to his work."

"God, you're hopeless! Didn't you ever see Hitch?" Mike asked.

"Is that a movie?"

(-)

To: Mary

 _Mike's going through a messy divorce. Going to spend some male bonding time with him. Be home late._

Yeah, male bonding by watching a romance on DVD at his ex-boyfriend's house.

 _Rosamund sends her regards._ Mary responded.

John huffed. Mary would be very mad if he spent the night and left her to tend to the baby. And, it wasn't exactly fair to her.

 _I'll be back after a bit. Just want to make sure Mike is ok._

More like he wants to make sure I'll be ok. Out of the two of them John was in far worse emotional condition.

 _Tell me when you're on your way home. x_

John read the text then made sure he hadn't received anything from Sherlock.

Mike put in the DVD and laughed at John throughout the entire thing.

God, when Will Smith explained _"I'm really into my career right now"_ meant _"try harder stupid_ " John honestly thought he would die.

It was hilarious if you enjoyed other people's pain.

"Is Sherlock... I mean, has he..." John fumbled for words. "His brother said... Well, I was under the impression he'd never... you know." He made a vaguely rude hand gesture as he stammered.

Mike shrugged. "Don't really know for sure. But, his ex is a looker and I'd be surprised if nothing happened there."

"Ex?" John squeaked.

"Victor." Mike confirmed. "They met when his dog attacked him. Sherlock said something unfortunate to Victor's father and apparently the man was so appalled he left the country to avoid seeing Sherlock."

John thought he might faint.

 _"If you'll be needing two bedrooms." "I'm not his date!"_ And then Sarah... Of course Sherlock knew what a date was! Sherlock was asking him out!

"Ohhh..." John moaned. "I'm such an _idiot_!"

Mike's mouth twisted like he agreed but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

(-)

It was raining and John was pretty sure he couldn't walk in a straight line and that taxi driver ripped him off but at the moment he didn't care. He tried to get the key but it slipped around, leaving gouges that proved he wasn't sober enough to do this. John ignored that and rang the door bell. When there was no response he pounded on the door.

Mrs. Hudson answered. "John? What on earth?"

"Is Sherlock in?" He asked but it came out slurred, "Ish Sssherlie in?"

The landlady frowned and opened the door to let him in. Once she shut the door she asked quietly, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

John blinked owlishly. "Hm?"

"I'm not an idiot John Watson. If you do this, it's not something you can take back. If you hurt Sherlock with this you'll answer to me."

He snorted. Then he realized that was a bit not good.

"You can't have just one night. A drunken confession, a realization because it's New Year's Eve and you can't stand the idea of getting one year older. Just wanting this because you're scared..." She trailed off.

"I'm not just making this major change because it's New Year's Eve; that's a total coincidence." John tried to say. He was drowsy in the warmth of the foyer after being in the freezing winter downpour. Sibilant mush came out instead of words.

Mrs. Hudson seemed to understand what he meant. "John, dear, you can't wipe the slate clean tomorrow. That's not how _this_ works."

John looked her in the eye and nodded. Then he started up the stairs.

She sighed and shook her head but didn't follow.

"John? What on earth are you doing here at two am?" Sherlock asked before he'd even entered the flat.

"Sherlock..." John swallowed. He sobered up so fast seeing the detective leaning against the table, his cane in his hand. Suddenly he wondered if he had the courage to do this.

"Obvious." Sherlock muttered and guided the drunken man into his chair before he fell over. "You couldn't go home and see Mary this drunk so you came here to sleep it off. Did you remember text her so she doesn't worry?"

John resisted Sherlock's attempts to make him sit in his chair and Sherlock couldn't manoeuvre him properly and stay upright himself. His limp was _not_ psychosomatic. John realized he didn't even know how he'd been injured. It was probably a case, dangerous. He didn't invite John along on those ones anymore.

He didn't invite John on _any_ cases anymore.

"Why didn't you respond to my text?" He demanded.

Had Sherlock found someone to replace him? He knew Molly worked cases with him but she had a full time job. Was it that drug addict Billy? Maybe this was a bad idea, he mused. Maybe Sherlock didn't-

Sherlock cut the thought off. "I made a mistake."

John's face twisted in both confusion and horror. He had been replaced then. But...?

"I made my commitment to Rosie too obvious. Moriarty still has agents out there. She's a target." Sherlock gave up on trying on forcing John to sit. He took a step back and removed his hand from John's person.

John didn't even realize Sherlock had been holding him. The shorter man felt cold without the contact.

Alone.

Abandoned.

He took a deep breath to calm himself before he worked himself into a panic. John stared into sharp almond eyes, wide with panic, begging for forgiveness and slightly afraid of his temper. John was always a little more violent whenever he'd been drinking.

'Oh, God!' John moaned mentally. Sherlock was afraid of him. John had taken his rage out on the furniture, the glassware and various other things. And his friend. His _best_ friend.

The only person who saw John as he was, forgave all his horrible attributes, understood him. Who returned to him. Suddenly Sherlock's response at the press conference John had scheduled during his engagement party made sense. _"I heard you."_ Sherlock hadn't been saying, "Yes, I know you asked me not to be dead and I left you anyway to go on a grand adventure." he was saying, "I heard you ask me not to be dead and I made sure I didn't die so I could return."

John had never loved anyone like he loved Sherlock.

And Sherlock was afraid John was going to punch him for loving his daughter.

John choked on a sob.

"Oh, god. Sherlock..." He ducked his head as tears escaped his eyes and ran down his cheeks.

"John?! What?! What did I...? I'm sorry!" Sherlock panicked.

John shook his head. "No, no..." He tried to raise his head but chickened out half way though. He couldn't watch Sherlock flail and feel like he had done something wrong. He took two steps forward and wrapped his arms around the lanky man. "I'm sorry. I'm _sorry._ God, Sherlock... I'm so sorry." John buried his head in Sherlock's shoulder.

If Sherlock noticed how damp his clothing became he didn't mention it. He just dropped his cane and wrapped his arms around John. Tentatively at first, unsure how to comfort anyone physically. Then, when John didn't shove him off, he tightened his grip and rested his cheek on John's head. "John..." He whispered.

When John had calmed himself down he discreetly tried to wipe his nose on his sleeve. "Sherlock, I have something I need to say..." He winced, remembering words Sherlock had said. _"John, there's something ... I should say; I-I've meant to say always and then never have._ _"_ John choked and had to dab at his eyes.

"John?"

John gathered his courage. He was suddenly positive. He knew the only thing he would regret about this night was that he had waited so long. That he had to get drunk, that a friend had to point out his idiocy and that he was crying with the force of his regrets and repressed emotions.

He held Sherlock's arms and took a step back. "Sherlock..."

"John-" Sherlock was looking over John's shoulder.

"No! Stop and listen." He commanded and Sherlock's mouth snapped shut. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes..." He took a deep breath and waited until Sherlock's eyes met his. "I love you."

Sherlock's eyes widened. "That's..." his eyes flicked back over John's shoulder.

John heard a click he recognized as a gun's safety flicking off.

"That's... problematic..." Sherlock finished before flinging John into his chair. The brunette lost his balance in the process and fell over, knocking his head against John's knee.

John winced at the pain and the sound of a gun firing. He could see the bullet hit Sherlock's chair. He turned to the sound and saw Mary.

Mary hadn't expected Sherlock to fall when he pushed John.

Mary had tried to shoot Sherlock, _again_.

John remembered Mary's face at the hospital when he told her that Sherlock had pulled through. How surprised she looked. John also remembered how Shan told him that assassins only didn't hit their targets when they didn't want to miss. He remembered how Sherlock had flat lined on the operating table. The doctor had horrible nightmares about the surgeon removing his gloves and turning to the clock to call time of death. Mary could have shot Sherlock in the head. Could have made sure that Sherlock wouldn't ever come back.

Suddenly John realized why she didn't.

Molly had told John that Sherlock had identified Irene Adler from _"not her face."_

And John knew that he would ID the body this time. He would have to know. He would have to know beyond a doubt that Sherlock was actually dead this time.

And he couldn't do that from _"not his face."_

"I don't have to kill you, John." Mary said. "But, I do have to kill him."

Sherlock was staggering on the floor, he was disoriented and his leg was clearly causing him pain.

Mary was moving toward them. She was pointed John's pistol at the struggling figure but she didn't have a clear shot yet, the side table was blocking it.

There was no way in hell John was going to let it end like this. No, Sherlock would not die _again_. Not on John's watch.

John stood up and glared at her. He kept his body between the two people he loved. "Mary. You know I love you. You _know_ that. But..." He widened his stance and clenched his fists. He glared at her. "I won't let you try to kill him again." The next part came out more growl than words. "Never again. If you want to kill him, you'll have to kill me."

Her mouth twisted. "Of course, this is what it comes down to, isn't it? John Watson finally exits the closet." Mary aimed at his chest, "Well, you can't say I didn't try to make our marriage work. You were the problem this time." She taunted hatefully, "Poor me, marrying a gay man. No wonder you could only forgive _him_ and not me."

Sherlock growled loudly from behind John and the fire poker flew at her head.

The gun went off and John dived at her. He felt the bullet hit his arm but used the moment before the pain set in to wrestle the gun away from her grip. It went spinning over John's shoulder.

The two stopped struggling when the sound of the action clicked. Sherlock was keeling but he had the gun pointed at Mary's head.

John rolled to the side and the pain made itself known. He wrapped his right hand around the wound, ignoring the fresh wave of pain in order to prevent blood loss. There was the sound of breaking glass and John saw Mary's body jerk.

Sherlock flung himself over John and aimed out the window. He fired John's gun twice before John gave in and lost consciousness.

(-)

John woke up once when the paramedics were loading him into an ambulance. They were trying to pry John's hand out of Sherlock's. John struggled and ripped the oxygen mask off to tell them that he _couldn't_ be separated from Sherlock. Not now. Not when Sherlock was making such desperate cries. All he managed was "Sherl..." He flung his arm at the nearest interloper before it was restrained. "Sherl!" He whimpered before the mask was replaced and John honestly wasn't sure how he felt the needle carrying the sedative pierce his leg, but he did. "Sherrr..." He sobbed before his body went limp and he couldn't hold on to the one person who mattered anymore.

(-)

The next time John surfaced it was due to the sounds of a baby's cries. Rosamund. John felt guilty for forgetting about her. And for realizing that Sherlock mattered more than she did. It was horrible. Despicable. He suddenly hoped she was someone else's child because she deserved so much better than having him as a father.

"Shhhh... Shhhhh... It's ok. There, you see? Daddy's waking up. It'll all be ok." A deep voice was rumbling.

John wondered if Sherlock was reassuring himself more than the baby.

"Sherl...?"

Suddenly his right hand was enveloped in warmth. "John. It's ok. It'll all be ok. Ok?"

John nodded. If Sherlock said so it must be true. John would actually listen from now on. Sherlock was still talking but he couldn't focus on the words; the baritone was soothing and John went back to sleep.

(-)

John was finally awake more often than he was asleep. The doctors were cutting back on the morphine and John was the stereotypical difficult doctor as a patient. But, he wasn't as difficult as Sherlock was to the staff so they forgave him.

Sherlock actually hissed like an angry cat at one of the female nurses who got a bit too friendly and it made John laugh so hard he nearly pulled his stitches.

"God, I love you so much." John muttered at his jealous consulting detective.

John was expecting Sherlock to say it back this time but Sherlock just winced and burped Rosamund. Then he escaped to the loo to clean up.

Harry came to visit. She was on another bender, demanding to know why no one notified her that John had been shot, _again_. "The press has been horrible, John! The things they're saying... They've been bothering me because no one will say anything. The police haven't made a statement. I mean, I wouldn't blame you-"

"Yes, well, nice to see you, Harry." Sherlock interrupted.

"What?" John asked a sinking feeling in his chest.

"Your wife!" Harry screeched. "You didn't _actually_ kill her, did you?" She sniffed haughtily and swayed, "Not for _him._ " She pointed accusingly at Sherlock.

"Not now, Harry!" Sherlock cuddled Rosamund to his chest and bounced her to offset her reaction to the noise.

Oh, god. He'd forgotten all about Mary. "What? ... Sherlock?" John couldn't even articulate the question.

Sherlock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye but avoided maintaining eye contact.

Harry glared at her brother.

"I... I..." John stammered. He didn't really remember what happened. He knew he didn't kill her and he was fairly certain Sherlock didn't either. But, there was no one else there, was there?

"God. I knew you hated women but this takes it to new heights." Harry scowled. "At least tell me you finally gave up this whole heterosexual gimmick and finally came out of the closet."

"Harry!" Sherlock snapped.

"Oh, well. Good." She sneered at the tall dark haired man. "Don't expect it to last, he dumped the last one and crawled back in at the first sign of trouble."

"Harriet!" John growled.

"Yeah, he hides behind the term bisexual. As if there really is such a thing. It's just because he's scared to say he likes cock. Scared to be like his fuck-up faggot sibling. Always the perfect little angel."

 _"Harry!"_ John gasped.

"Interesting theory. Funny how the stupid ones never can see beyond their own predilections." Mycroft sneered, somehow having entered without making a sound.

"Who the fuck are you?!" Harry turned on him.

Sherlock relaxed. "Oh, good. Finally decided to be useful, have you? Do us one more favour and get rid of this one."

" _Get rid of?!_ "

John knew that Mycroft could if he were so inclined. "Harry, for the love of god, shut up. Do something smart for once in your life and don't antagonize him."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" John couldn't tell which one of them she was asking as it was relevant to all of them.

"Oi! How'd you all get in here? No one's supposed to talk to him until he's given his statement!" Lestrade came into the very claustrophobic private room. "I only allowed Sherlock because of John's daughter."

"There's no need, officer. You'll find all the statements completed and on your desk." Mycroft smiled at the silver haired man.

The blond shuddered at the predatory look in Mycroft's eye.

Molly bullied her way in, "Sherlock, you said you needed Rosie's bottle heated? I have it here..." She brushed her hand through her hair and looked at Sherlock from under her lashes.

"Oh, my god! Enough of this ridiculousness! He's obviously gay! He's stringing you along for favours." Harry spat.

"W-w-what?" Molly blushed.

John buried his face in his moveable hand.

"Yeah, those two probably think it's some great joke. Misogynistic pricks." She swayed. "Now, if you want someone who will treat you right..." Harry leered at the pathologist.

Molly looked around the room. "It's true. You all knew, didn't you?" She stamped her foot. "Probably were laughing at me! Well, you can all... just... piss off!" She fled.

John realized he was a complete arse. He'd thought Sherlock asexual, maybe into Irene Adler... He didn't really believe all the stories about Janine... But he _knew_ Sherlock wasn't remotely interested in Molly. He was supposed to be the good guy, the saint. Looking around the room he realized he was probably the worst person there. Even when he included Mycroft.

"Well, that was fun." Harry laughed.

 _"FUN?!"_ Lestrade growled. "You threw her under the bus for _fun?!_ " He walked up to Harry and looked her in the eye. "We tried to break it to her gently but even though we failed not telling her was nicer than what you did!"

Harry refused to cower. "Please, women like that are boring in their teenage years and pathetic in their thirties. She just promotes a stupid stereotype. She'll thank me later." Harry raised her eyebrow. "Maybe even see the light and come to play for the right team."

"Amusing, a misandrist lesbian complaining about stereotypes. Let me guess, a vegetarian too?" Mycroft narrowed his eyes at Harry. He turned to John, "It's no wonder it's taken you so long to come out to my brother; if this was your role-model."

"I'm in Hell." John murmured. "Mary shot me, I died and I'm in Hell."

"No," Harry scoffed, "John's the vegetarian."

"She's the pescetarian. You're slipping brother mine." Sherlock crowed, preening in his victory.

"Of course." The official sneered, "I'll be sure to update the notes for rehab."

Harry started screeching incoherently and spilled her heavily Irish-ed coffee.

John's agitation caused the monitors to go off and his doctor kicked everyone out. Said doctor raised his morphine drip level despite John's protests and he succumbed to medicated sleep.

(-)

When John came back Sherlock was sitting by his bed, petting the shorter man's hand.

"Hey." John croaked.

Sherlock retrieved some ice chips. He had a badly swollen black eye.

"Molly?" John guessed.

"Mm." Sherlock agreed. "Not for lack of trying on your sister's part."

John frowned. "I was hoping that was a nightmare."

"Well, Lestrade's comforting Molly now. So it all worked out." Sherlock forced some more ice chips into John's mouth.

John crunched them and swallowed. "Not for Mycroft." He tried to move and winced at the pain in his arm.

Sherlock's hands fluttered gracelessly. "Are you in too much pain? I turned it down; I didn't want you to get addicted. That was probably a bit not good, but you didn't want it turned up-"

John interrupted his rambling. "No, it's fine. Thank you."

There was an awkward silence neither seemed to want to break.

Sherlock gave first, "I'm sorry about Mary."

John swallowed. "Did you...?" He couldn't finish the question.

Sherlock looked like he'd been slapped. "No! No, of course not. No. I couldn't do that to you! I know you loved her. That... That was all that was important."

John looked away. "I loved someone who didn't exist."

Neither said anything further. The ice shifted in the container, bringing attention to the silence.

"Here's the official report. It's mostly true." Sherlock handed John a folder.

"Did you at least get her killer?" John asked after he finished reading. He stared at the door, never once looking at his friend after he finished it.

He heard Sherlock shifting in his seat. "I'm not... I'm not a crack shot." He waited but John didn't say anything. "I'm sorry. I hit him, but he got away."

"Do we know who it was? And who sent them?" John asked, looking at the paper. There was something familiar...

Sherlock didn't answer and John looked up to see his friend in his mind palace.

 _"Oh!"_ Sherlock took out his phone and started texting furiously. "Obvious! Stupid, stupid!" He muttered as his fingers flew over the screen.

Well, fuck. That wasn't good.

(-)(-)(-)

*Ping, ping, ping*

Mycroft hurried to silence his phone before it gave away his position. He knew Sherlock had figured it out. That was good, the damage would be limited. As limited as it could be, considering.

"I know you're there, Mycroft." She called. "You can't hide from me. I know _everything_."

Mycroft hit the panic button on his phone. It would announce that he was compromised to all his contacts and that anyone in his association should be black listed. He sent a quick text afterwards containing only his assistant's file.

*Ping.* The Blackberry's notice came from his right and he put Rosamund on his left hip and tried for the hidden passage behind the tapestry. *Ping.*

There was a short pause after the sounds. Just long enough for her to read the notices. "Blacklisting me? Amusing when you don't even know my real name."

A shot above his left shoulder caused Rosamund to cry out; he shielded her with his body. "Of course I know your real name, Moran. I actually found it fitting, considering its meaning. More so now though, I think."

"Yes, Irish for Viburnum shrub. The plant found with Ötzi the Iceman. Funny, he had an asymptomatic parasite too." Anthea came out of the shadows, her gun slightly lower than optimal.

"I had thought you were an interesting find. Retired sniper for her majesty's army. I can see now you worked with Moriarty, common ancestor?" Mycroft stalled, keeping his body between the threat and the child. Sherlock would never forgive him if she died in his care too. Mycroft quickly buried all thoughts of their older sister.

She bared her teeth. "No, unfortunately."

"Ah, _sentiment_. Boring." Mycroft taunted, hoping to throw her off balance. "You were in love with him. Moriarty was incapable of returning the affection though, wasn't he?"

"Wrong again. You're allowing your sentiment to cloud your judgment."

Mycroft looked his assistant up and down. It was clear she was in love with someone, someone related to Moriarty, someone... He ran through all her interactions. If it wasn't Moriarty and Moriarty was obsessed with Sherlock, and it clearly wasn't Sherlock or himself. "John."

"You're quite slow, for the supposed smarter brother. John discovered Moriarty's weapon sales in Afghanistan so I was told to take him out. But, he was... different. Interesting. You've seen it too. I can tell you find him, _appealing_. When I didn't kill him Moriarty punished me by putting him in Sherlock's path. Those two really are made for one another." Her eyes tightened at the last statement. "When no one could confirm Moriarty's death I couldn't make a move. You sent Mary to keep John sane until your brother finished his part of the task. So sad there were so many delays and the idiot actually fell in love with her. Tragic, how it all ended."

"You're bleeding out." Mycroft cursed his stupidity as soon as the words were out. He didn't want to rush her traditional villain monologue. Not that anyone could save him in time. But the child still had a chance.

"It wasn't hard to convince Mary to go back to her profession. But she _liked_ Sherlock. Found him amusing. Plus the idiot genius was a good distraction for her imbecilic husband so she could have a bit of excitement. She was _supposed_ to kill your brother." Anthea tisked. "Left it to chance that first time though. She knew what I was really after. Smart woman. Pity she couldn't finish the job."

Mycroft was inching to the vase. So close...

"All I need to do is change the DNA results so John believes Rosamund isn't his," She smirked, "If she even is. I don't know. She might not be. Mary always did have a weakness for blonds and I never found out if Moriarty included him when that madman experimented on John's regiment."

Mycroft held the wailing infant with one hand, reaching the other to the hidden weapon.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Moran shot his thigh. "None of that."

Mycroft tried to take the vase with him but prioritized Rosamund, shifting her so she fell safely between him and the pedestal. He wanted to tell Moran she was insane if she thought John would ever choose her now. Not after the man finally admitted his love for Sherlock.

She seemed to read his thoughts on his face. Anthea was cleverer than he gave her credit for. "Yes, but John is a halfwit. And once the baby is dead, proven afterwards that she was never his to begin with and Sherlock falls prey to his vices, an overdose from guilt at not being able to protect the spawn without ever saying he loved John back; John will fall back to his womanizing ways and this time he'll find someone who can _excite_ him properly."

"All I need to do is get rid of you." Moran raised her weapon, even with the waver caused by her hypovolemia the range was too close for her to miss.

Two shots rang out and Mycroft flinched around Rosamund. He prayed his body was enough of a shield to stop the bullet from reaching her.

"I always said you were an idiot Mycroft Holmes."

He blinked and watched as Mrs. Hudson set a revolver aside and put pressure on his wound.

"Don't die now, for heaven sakes! If your brother can manage to survive being shot in the chest you can pull through from a simple leg wound."

Mycroft blinked. The next time he opened his eyes there were more people.

He watched Mrs. Hudson pick up Rosamund with bloodied hands and direct the paramedics. Somehow acting like a helpless old woman but simultaneously maintaining total control of the situation.

Mycroft realized he underestimated her too. His pondered if he really was the idiot of the family as he was pulled into unconsciousness.

* * *

A/N: So, apparently John is catnip and I have a passing out writing kink. :P Follow me GizmoTrinket221 for updates and other Sherlock stuff.

Prompts: #16 I'm not just making this major change because it's New Year's Eve; that's a total coincidence. + #146 "I love you." "That's... problematic..."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sherlock's POV Prompts can be found at the end so there won't be any spoilers.

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Of Explanations and Friends**

Sherlock balanced Rosie in one arm while he poked his brother with his cane-sword.

"Stop it." John admonished.

Sherlock sighed but desisted. He checked his phone with one hand; then wiped a few blonde curls from Rosie's forehead when he had no new texts.

John sighed. "Sit. Your pacing is making me anxious."

"Rosie likes it." The brunette replied. It was true, but in reality he was too keyed up to sit. He hadn't noticed he was pacing again. The pacing always bothered John and he tried not to do it unless necessary.

"I know you're worried about your brother-"

Sherlock made a rude noise.

"-but," John continued as if Sherlock hadn't interrupted, "being manic when he wakes up won't help. He'll think something's wrong and-"

"Of course something's wrong!"

"A couple of bruises are not-"

Sherlock couldn't stop even though John was starting to get angry. "He was supposed to keep her _safe_ John! If she's not safe with Mycroft she's not safe anywhere!"

"Stop interrupting me!" John shouted back. "He protected her with his life, Sherlock! _Mycroft_ protected _my_ daughter. Just think about that."

The taller man could see that his brother was stirring but he didn't want to give in. "You see but do not observe. Mycroft was only acting on my orders. He was doing it in exchange for my assistance. If Rosie was harmed he wouldn't have lived anyway."

"Oh my god..." The doctor shook his head. "How can you be so bloody smart and stupid at the same time?!"

Sherlock felt his face move into the unflattering expression John was fond of teasing him about (before Mary died) when he'd called Sherlock a drama queen. He willed his features back to something more neutral.

"He's right, brother mine."

John went into doctor mode and Sherlock rolled his eyes. Of course Mycroft would wait until he lost the argument to fully awaken. Stupid git was getting better at acting drugged.

Sherlock made a mental note to drug him again to note differences.

"No." John said.

"What?" Mycroft and Sherlock asked at the same time. Mycroft's tone was the polite confusion one might use with a toddler who just learned to speak. Sherlock's was feigned innocence.

John gave the consulting detective a flat look and ignored Mycroft. "I know what happens when you make that face Sherlock. And no."

Sherlock gave John the huff that said he would acquiesce but wasn't happy about it. Hopefully by now John knew that Sherlock's huff also held the endearment that he was only doing this because he loved the blond so much.

Although, maybe it was better that he didn't. Sherlock knew that John must understand the consulting detective was gay... After Harry's outburst it would be hard not to. But John always insisted that he wasn't. That he would never be was strongly implied.

If that implication ever was stated outright Sherlock wasn't sure how he would handle it. For the past seven years he'd been living on (what he knew after John's wedding was fruitless) hope. But, as long as there was a chance, however slim...

"Hey." John gently pulled the brunette from his thoughts.

Sherlock hadn't realized he had gone into his mind palace, remembering every small detail that had given him hope. He was embarrassed but Mycroft didn't look smug, just tired. Sherlock pulled the cane-sword from where he left it against Mycroft's bed. "Here." Sherlock thrust it into Mycroft's face.

Mycroft flinched, expecting to be hit with it. But when he realized it was a gift, of sorts, (2.4 seconds longer than it should have taken) he smiled. It wasn't the sour lemon look he got when he was being a smarmy git. It was the smile Sherlock hadn't seen since before Mycroft went off to boarding school and went on a diet. It was genuine happiness. He took the end of the weapon, but didn't have the strength to hold it and Sherlock had to help him move it to the side of his bed. "Thank you." Mycroft said.

There was no subtle reminder of Mycroft's influence in Sherlock's life. The 'brother dear' comment was a reference to Bernice Friesen's short story of the same name. Mycroft had been instrumental in allowing Sherlock the freedom to make his own profession, to force the Yard to recognise his usefulness and John. Sherlock had heard the recordings of Anthea's/Moran's confession.

"You're welcome." Sherlock picked up John's old aluminium cane and turned before Mycroft could see the chin wobble. It was solely due to the stress of managing a baby and an injured leg on no painkillers but the elder brother would assume it was sentiment.

The blond patted Sherlock's hip with a smile and Sherlock fled, less graceful than usual, to get a nurse to help John back into his room so he could finally be discharged.

(-)

John _insisted_ that Rosie always sleep in her cot. Sherlock hated John and Mary's place so he took the initiative to move everything into 221B. Rosie's cot was in Sherlock's room, it would be idiotic to place her up a flight of stairs with John while he was injured. Sherlock had long since fixed the fire-escape issue and it was the second safest room in the flat (after John's, of course). Sherlock would never separate John from his daughter so Sherlock had movers take everything that belonged to his flatmate (not ex-flatmate, never again) and bring it with Rosie's belongings.

A confidential file was delivered to 221B the day before John was to be released from the hospital. Sherlock had just finished tending to Rosamund's morning needs when Mrs. Hudson brought it up.

"I'm not a messenger, you know."

"Of course, just like you're not my housekeeper." Sherlock winced at how harsh that sounded but Hudders just tutted fondly and left. He smiled; she always understood what he actually meant.

Sherlock took advantage of the empty flat to zero in on the file.

(-)

"I was expecting you to be at- Oh, have you got a case?"

Sherlock's head snapped up. "John?" Was it that late already? Based on the soreness in his arm that was a definite yes.

"You know it's better for her if she sleeps somewhere other than your arms, right?"

He stood up and caught himself before the pins and needles in his legs forced him back down. The cane had its uses. Once Sherlock was sure he could walk he set Rosie in her cot and carried the baby monitor back.

John was looking though the file's contents, his face ashen.

Too late Sherlock realized John hadn't heard the tapes.

"She didn't change." John shook his head, his face never leaving the text. "She never gave it up. All those times she sent us off on cases... Oh god, even when she was pregnant..."

"She did change, John." He approached slowly, like one would a wounded animal. "She loved you. And Rosie."

"Then why...?"

Sherlock understood, he'd read the file. Mary took on local contracts, a mobster here, a corrupt politician there. Things that if Mycroft heard about he wouldn't interfere with. "She's like me."

"You're not a murderer!" John turned, his fists balled in anger.

Sherlock put his free hand up in a placating gesture. "I am. And so are you." John relaxed after a moment of thought (Magnussen and the cabbie) so the brunette continued, "I replaced my addiction to drugs with solving puzzles, you replaced the adrenaline you got from war with fighting crime. She replaced her addiction with something more..." The brunette searched for an accurate word but couldn't find one. "'good.'"

The misunderstanding was clear when John looked down and hid his eyes.

"That was you. You bring out the best in people, John. I fought for the side of the angels because of you." Sherlock internally winced at the reference but John didn't seem to notice. He didn't know. Mycroft must not have released that recording. "Mary did the same."

John buried his face in his hands, winced when he realized he couldn't move his left and rubbed his eyes with his right. The older of the two took a deep shaky breath and wiped his eyes with the other side of his right hand.

"Painkiller?" Sherlock offered as an out.

John took a moment before he glanced at Sherlock's phone. "Not yet, two more hours."

"Right." Sherlock wasn't sure what to do. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, he couldn't pace while John was already upset.

The doctor stood up. "I should take Rosie home. She'll need a proper kip in her cot if you've been keeping her in... What have you been keeping her in? Not your bed, right?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course not. Her cot is in my room."

"What?"

"You can't properly care for her alone so I had some movers take everything here." Sherlock explained.

"You can't just kidnap my daughter!"

"I didn't."

"And you can't have homeless drug addicts moving a baby's things!"

The taller man sighed. "Obviously. I hired proper movers for both Rosie and your belongings."

John gave Sherlock his, 'I can't believe you are this stupid, what the bloody hell were you thinking you utter cock' face.

Sherlock hated that face.

He realized he'd done something 'A Bit Not Good' and he resigned himself to a domestic.

(-)

Sherlock's leg healed before John's arm did; not all that surprising when John kept using it instead of keeping it in the sling.

"John! Let me take care of Rosie, you need to rest or you'll end up with a tremor that won't go away this time." Sherlock scolded and took John's daughter from him. She squawked in protest but quieted when Sherlock took the bottle from John and started to feed her.

Mycroft interrupted this chapter in their ongoing argument by simply entering the room. He'd been there earlier to interview them on any details he didn't have from the cameras he had in 221B. Sherlock had thrown the cane sword down the stairs when John became visibly upset. Neither sibling said anything at the time but Sherlock noted that Mycroft was still using it; it had replaced his signature umbrella. Probably because it was the hidden weapon he'd desired since he won the regional fencing competition. The consulting detective wondered if it would continue to stay with Mycroft once the irritating man was fully healed. Sherlock noted that he found that notion emotionally fulfilling. A lot of the resentment the younger brother felt evaporated when the elder was willing to die for John's daughter.

Sherlock was both relieved and annoyed at his brother's timely entrance. "What do you want?" He snapped.

"I have all the information on The Incident." Mycroft said. Several agents carrying boxes entered the flat.

John frowned at the men.

Sherlock knew John hated anyone in Mycroft's employ coming near his daughter. The consulting detective trusted the agents now that Mycroft was using males rather than females as his underlings but didn't know how to explain that to his flatmate without referencing the Uncomfortable Hospital Incident.

"I'll leave you both to it." Sherlock heard Mycroft say and listened until everyone left before turning to the files.

(-)

Those files contained _everything_. John refused to read them, only requested that Sherlock share any information that confused him or might come back to haunt them. The brunette had started with Mycroft's personal files so he readily agreed, happy to keep the elder brother's personal notes away from John's eyes.

 _"Sherlock is incapable of making friends and Dr. Stamford is misguided in his belief that Sherlock cares about him beyond the access he provides to the hospital's lab. I suspect the relationship will end when my brother finds someone more useful. However Dr. Stamford does not have the temperament to hold anything my brother says or does against him and is therefore not a threat."_

Mycroft's notes after interviewing John were far worse: _"Obvious why my brother is infatuated with him. Clearly his daddy issues and military kink could be satisfied by Dr. Watson but I doubt my brother would act on his desires after "The Major" and Victor incidents. Since Dr. Watson is currently incapable of a romantic relationship with another man the only threat he poses would be if Sherlock fell in love with him."_

(-)

 _"Why, if my things are in my room, is my daughter in yours?"_

 _"Please, John, obviously you can't be trusted to navigate a staircase with Rosie when you don't have use of both arms. I also require less sleep then you, and you become violent when you're woken by someone entering your room."_

 _"Because you were trying to experiment on me you cock!"_

 _Technically the third, and last, time was to experiment on himself; he wanted to see if he was capable of sleeping next to John. But, John rarely understood the difference between 'experiment on' and 'experiment with' so Sherlock didn't argue that point. "Also, it would be cruel to make Mrs. Hudson climb another set of stairs when she needs to babysit."_

 _John threw his hands up in surrender._

As Sherlock remembered what had been downgraded from a domestic to a tense conversation due to John being unnaturally reasonable he noted that John still claimed the upstairs room as his, that he didn't say 'the upstairs bedroom' or any variation.

Unfortunately Mycroft's personal files were no more forthcoming about the doctor's relationship history than the any other document Sherlock had managed to procure. The brunette knew that Sholto had been in love with the shorter blond and the two had become quite close but nothing sexual ever happened.

The consulting detective agreed with his brother that sentiment clouded judgement but John hadn't confessed his love again since he'd learned that Mary was dead.

Sherlock realized he'd never said it back.

Confused, he walked to the kitchen to get his laptop. John's was closer but if the genius forgot the clear the browser history again this might have worse consequences than John cancelling orders of various bacteria samples.

(-)

"So, what do I need to know?" John hadn't asked for longer than expected. The returned Army Captain's arm was mostly healed and he'd avoided getting a tremor. John had trouble lifting his arm when he was thinking about it and even more trouble sleeping on his left side. Sherlock had tried to start this conversation several times only to have John brush him off with excuses like, _"There's not enough time right now."_ or _"Is it dangerous to Rosie? No? Then I'm too tired to care."_

Sherlock knew it'd be more than 'A Bit Not Good' to hide any important detail (Mycroft's opinions did not qualify), no matter how insulting or embarrassing to either of them. The consulting detective explained how he'd read John's blog entry on their first case and considered him a suspect. How he'd manipulated Mike into arranging a meeting. How Sherlock realized that John had nothing to do with the murders and was interesting. "I decided to trust you with everything after you shot the cabbie for me." Sherlock left out the fact that he referred to his heart more than his life. John probably wouldn't understand what he'd meant but it was as close to a confession as he felt comfortable with while John was working through his wife's death.

The taller man played the tapes Mycroft made for John. He answered all John's questions. Then Sherlock talked about how Mycroft wanted John both in Sherlock's life and the bureaucrat's bed. "I put a stop to that though." Sherlock made sure to say. "You aren't gay and I wasn't having him pressure you into anything." The younger read the irritation in John's face so he continued. "He'd done it before... Pressured people I was close with into his bed." Sherlock admitted with no small amount of shame. Victor had been loyal, his boxing teacher not so much. But Victor's father hadn't even put up a token resistance. Sherlock understood why outing him in front of his wife and kids the first time Victor had brought Sherlock home was 'A Bit Not Good' after John explained the 'Christmas Present Incident' with Molly to him. The brunette had thought the package was for Lestrade but he never got around to explaining that to the blond and later forgot with the mystery that The Woman's phone presented. Sherlock didn't say any of this aloud and just fell into silence.

John decided that was a good time to make some tea and Sherlock gathered his thoughts while the water boiled.

Once John put Sherlock's cup on the coffee table in front of him and settled into his red chair Sherlock continued, explaining how Moriarty's focus had shifted from the doctor after Sherlock proved to be more interesting. How Moriarty was born Mitchell Steward, he'd recreated himself as he climbed through the ranks of the organization known as Moriarty taking the top spot to rebel against his father and his name. That Janine Hawkins, born May Steward, took over what was left of the organization after Sherlock's housecleaning. When he'd shot Magnussen and Janine had gotten her media fuelled revenge they'd come to an understanding. John was twitchy at the name of Sherlock's fake girlfriend and assuming it was because John didn't approve of using Janine's body to solve the case the brunette added, "I never slept with her." John was clearly confused. "I never had sex with her." Sherlock rephrased. "She tried, far too often, but I wasn't going to touch her until we were married. A handy excuse, if archaic."

John snorted. "You were never seriously engaged even."

Sherlock smiled, "Exactly, John."

The doctor told Sherlock to drink his tea, as talking so long had made his mouth dry and voice scratchy.

"So, the organization, Moriarty, still exists?"

"Yes. But it doesn't have the problematic connections the previous Moriarty had. Janine decided to reorganize into a semi-legal force Mycroft didn't raise many objections to. She'll take secret government contracts: start a coup here, sell some extra weapons there, purposely weaken or strengthen some currency, create some civil unrest or scandal to negate a countries bargaining power in the UN, the sort of things Mycroft would do anyway but doesn't want officially linked back to the country." John looked appalled. "Mary was part of Moriarty. Janine had the same tattoo, a permanent mark of belonging and trust." Sherlock could see that John wanted to ask how the consulting detective knew about Mary's tattoo. Although the taller man knew both women had a secret tattoo when he first deduced them John might ask how Sherlock knew what Mary's mark was so he changed the subject away from the blond's adrenaline fuelled public sex kink. "Mary wanted the quiet life she built with you, you know. When I was sent on that suicide mission-"

"What?!"

"Do keep up, what did you think I'd meant when I'd said we probably wouldn't see each other again on the tarmac?" Sherlock snapped. John looked stricken and the brunette winced. He continued his explanation quickly to distract John from his mistake; Sherlock could see now how the doctor was seeing the slight drug overdose in a different light. "I trusted Mary to keep you safe. Janine said there was a sniper I'd missed hiding in London but I knew that if anyone tried to make a move on you Mary would protect you."

John frowned at the mention of his wife.

"I'm sorry, if it's any consolation. I should have seen that Anthea was a mole. I put too much trust in Mycroft's judgement." Sherlock finished his cold tea and muttered, "My brother forgets he's human."

They both understood that as much as Mycroft tried to live up to his reputation of an emotionless machine and attempted to sculpt the younger into what he dreamt of being the elder's overbearing, mothering, near smothering was how The Ice Man showed he cared.

Rosamund woke; her naps were getting longer much to the relief of both flatmates. Sherlock moved to tend to her more quickly than her father and she was quite content with the attention the brunette lavished on her as he tended to her needs while John watched. Her godfather carried her into the kitchen to make a bottle and he fiddled with the charm on her ankle as he waited for it to reach the proper temperature.

"Sherlock..." John paused, clearly unsure of how to phrase his thoughts.

"I know." The tallest of the three sighed. He was well aware that Rosamund was starting to like him better, that John would leave eventually and it might traumatize her. "She'll be ok though." John looked confused so he continued, "She's strong. How could she not be? You're her father. And I'll back off once you start dating again."

"What?" John was looking at Sherlock like he was the idiot.

Sherlock frowned at him, what part of this was confusing? Rosie was very young and children were surprisingly adaptive.

"Why do you think..." John didn't finish his thought, looking slightly horrified.

"Well, you feel incomplete when you're not in a romantic relationship." Sherlock elaborated.

John's expression twisted more.

Sherlock spelled it out for him. "You're not gay. I'm well aware you were speaking of pragma rather than eros. I doubt you were indicating philia, as I'm the last person anyone would consider good, rational and virtuous."

John was no longer turning green and was looking at Sherlock with the expression he had when Sherlock was missing something obvious. "You realize there are more than two options, right?"

The research he'd done on his laptop had explained everything about the various types of love. "I know; there are seven." Sherlock said as John clearly was being overly stupid. He'd outlined three types of love, even spelling out the last one for his blogger. Sherlock was suddenly struck by the realization that John no longer posted blog entries and John probably didn't consider him his best friend anymore.

"For someone so smart you always manage to shock me with the large gaps you have in common knowledge." John sighed. "And common sense." He murmured as an afterthought.

Sherlock felt the little wrinkle between his eyebrows appear in his irritation.

John opened his mouth but shut it quickly. Sherlock watched John think before deciding on how to approach the conversation. "Your brother, he's not straight."

"Obviously."

"Does he like women?"

Sherlock was uncomfortable talking about his brother's sexual history. "Not as such. He prefers men." The brunette swallowed around a lump in his throat. "Much like you prefer women."

"It's just a societal preference."

"Oh!" Sherlock's eyes widened with the realization. "Oh..." He backed several steps away from his flatmate. He unintentionally entered his mind palace to revaluate every interaction he'd had with his... partner.

He emerged from his thoughts and realized he'd put Rosie back in her cot while on autopilot and John had made tea in the meantime.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." John murmured as he set Sherlock's tea on the far edge of the coffee table.

"It's ok." Sherlock realized the response was inadequate. "I've... No one..." He felt himself frown and chastised himself for his sudden inarticulately. "It's never worked out." He quickly added, "And not just because of Mycroft's meddling."

"Because she faked her death and then died for real?" John said quietly, not looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock had missed something John found obvious again. "What?" The younger growled, irritated that he couldn't follow the conversation once again.

"For christsakes, Sherlock. You know who I'm talking about!" John snapped, finally looking at him.

But, he didn't. John knew that Janine was alive and she'd never faked her death. And he'd stated clearly that relationship was fake. Sherlock had never taken any other woman out for so much as a date or two and those were for cases. Never something John would consider a relationship. And Sherlock knew John had understood when he'd said that women weren't his area. Mycroft noted the only two true relationships the brunette had ever been in; the two people that taught Sherlock how to tell the when people cared or were just using him for one reason or another.

"Aaahhh!" Sherlock's most annoying text alert sound nearly echoed in the quiet and John visibly flinched.

"God! She's alive. That's why you don't know who I'm talking about! You saved her." John ranted and started pacing. "I should have known when Mycroft brought you up when he told me she died!"

Sherlock waited for John to finish. He knew that John wouldn't be able to listen properly when he was so worked up. The younger man just hoped that John wouldn't need one of his walks after he finished his diatribe. Sherlock finally understood all of the conversation and needed to clear up John's misconception before his flatmate decided to shut down and stop any attempt to bring up the conversation again.

"I should have seen it. The posh boy and the dominatrix. Are you just one giant bloody cliché?!"

The taller man balked at the insinuation that he'd ever be so pedestrian as to be a cliché. He realized he had 'Drama Queen Face' again. "For godsakes, John!" He shouted. Not intending to be so loud he controlled his voice so Rosamund wouldn't start crying. "Are you _really_ this blind?!" He hissed. John pursed his lips but Sherlock didn't give him time to respond. "It should be completely obvious, even to you!" John narrowed his eyes and still Sherlock didn't see the light in John's eyes that meant he understood. The doctor was perfectly capable of showing a million emotions at the same time and although he'd closed off after his return John opened up once more when he moved back in.

Sherlock had two options, he could point out each clue, not even subtle: when Mrs. Hudson asked if they'd need two rooms; when Angelo gave them a candle; every time Sherlock never said anything when people assumed they were a couple or on a date and John knew Sherlock always corrected people, even commented that he always had to get the last word; the time when John wanted to go out with that woman from the first surgery, Sari or something, Sherlock asked John out instead (although that one might not count because John seemed to think that _Sherlock,_ the man who could spot every person he walked past that was having an affair, didn't know what a bloody _date_ was!). Even Lestrade, who was nearly worthless as a detective winced at the obvious love confession in his best man's speech (he hadn't actually written that down and never intended to say it, no matter how many times he'd thought it while planning the wedding). And what, exactly, did John think Sherlock had intended to say on the tarmac before being sent to his death?! He'd even said that Sherlock Watson had a nice ring to it!

Sherlock could feel himself flap about as he got more and more worked up. He closed his eyes, having no desire to see John's expression to what he was about to say. Option one wasn't going to work. He stopped pacing, took a deep breath and admitted loudly, "I'm clearly _GAY_ you daft, blind-"

Suddenly he felt arms roughly pull him forward a step. One was flung over his shoulder grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down; the other was wrapped around his side, fingers digging into his back. The brunette opened his eyes and watched as John stood on his toes and forcefully pressed their mouths together.

Sherlock froze. He knew John was suffering because he missed his wife. That both husband and wife loved each other deeply even though relationship was strained. That John had never shown any interest in the taller man before (other than a drunken confession John wouldn't have remembered in the morning or would have pretended he didn't when he woke up on the couch with a splitting headache and hitting on the consulting detective at Angelo's even though later the blond swore he didn't) and that Sherlock was just a rebound. That the shorter man would call it off sooner rather than later. Even if the brunette wasn't simply someone John trusted and subconsciously knew he always had a chance with John would grow tired of Sherlock's inability to be 'Normal.' The younger man knew he could never be what the doctor actually wanted. That John would become frustrated whenever Sherlock was in a slump during which being touched by anyone or anything irritated him. That the consulting detective wouldn't ever go to the store even when they desperately needed uncontaminated milk. That being friends, even best friends and flatmates wasn't the same as being in a romantic relationship.

Right then, in that impossible moment, he didn't care. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around the man he'd loved for seven years.

The kiss turned tender, sweet and into everything Sherlock had dreamt of and more.

(-)(-)(-)

Mycroft needed to call his brother. He'd just learned that Mary was seen on CCTV outside 221B shortly after John texted her that he'd be late out with a friend. She set up a sniper rifle across the street but when she saw Sherlock was alone she waited. Eventually John arrived drunk and Mary, curious now since John wasn't lying about Mike, entered quietly after to see what would happen. Moran intercepted the message and buried it. (Mycroft had only just unearthed it.) In the end Mary's own weapon was used to kill her.

The younger brother requested _all_ information regarding the incident and although Mycroft didn't see it necessary as the case was closed he realized Sherlock had reasons for doing things that the elder brother didn't understand. Sherlock might not be as socially adept but he was better at picking friends. Even if he did it unintentionally. He was even better at keeping those he cared about safe. How Sherlock managed it Mycroft might never know.

Before dialling Mycroft checked the cameras Sherlock allowed (no audio still) and winced. 'Well,' the minor government official thought 'at least that's _finally_ happening.' He never should have approved that marriage certificate for Mary but Sherlock had called in a favour. Even if he hadn't Mycroft would have approved it anyway because the younger sibling did amazing but stupid things to spite the older brother. He hoped Sherlock presented the gift he had stashed for John properly. It had taken some effort on Mycroft's part and he didn't want the doctor angry at either of them. Mummy would have his head.

Mycroft called the rehab facility instead. They'd been wary of taking in John's sister after the last person they took in for Mycroft. And the one before that. But he assured them she was perfectly normal and wasn't a threat to national security or a Holmes. The updates they provided the official with looked promising but she'd always be a relapse risk. Luckily her liver would heal properly on its own. Mycroft had already changed John's records so it looked like they weren't a match. Harry would be (already was) family but the risk of losing John, no matter how small, was unacceptable. Mycroft was sure he'd be able to find a more suitable donor without putting John's sister in more danger.

He called the facility and left a message for her while she was in therapy so they wouldn't have to speak. "Mission accomplished. Your support is greatly appreciated." Harry wasn't pleased John was going to have _"a successful gay relationship without going through all the shit I had to"_ but Mycroft was sure the pain on both sides was equal. She'd never pined for someone so desperately for seven years. But, if she stayed irrational and held onto the grudge she wouldn't have any real support system. John did wonders for Sherlock. The younger brother wasn't perfect but he'd done far less heroin and cocaine (and morphine and god knows what else) in the past seven years. John didn't deserve Sherlock but he was good for him and youngest Holmes wanted the doctor as much as the doctor wanted him. That was all that really mattered. Harry needed someone in her life. But, Mycroft didn't have many lesbian contacts (bisexual women were out until the elder Watson sibling grew up a little) willing to date someone of Harry's disposition. Only one came to mind. Mycroft smirked; if nothing else it would be an interesting experiment. They'd either kill each other or fall passionately in love. He sent a text.

The paperwork on Mycroft's desk was complete and he had free time but nothing on which to spend it. Seeing as how he couldn't bother his brother, had no desire to see his parents or call an escort just to have some company for dinner he wondered if he could call Lestrade and be professional. 'Probably not.' Mycroft decided. The DCI was lusting over Miss Molly Hooper who, in an interesting turn of events, was making the silver haired fox work hard for her attention. It was amusing and Mycroft wished he could tell someone about it. Normally he'd "update" Sherlock or share a laugh with Anthea. His current assistant both wasn't adept at casual conversation and had gone home.

"Oh, god." Mycroft muttered. He felt dirty when he realized, "I need _friends_." The minor official in the British government decided to skip dinner and instead have a shower.

* * *

A/N: See you next week. Don't worry, it's already written. Just needs an edit. :)

Prompts: Imagine your OTP having their first kiss. + Imagine person A of your OTP coming out to person B as bisexual. Scenario one: Person A has previously been in relationships with only one gender (not B's gender) and now they want to start a relationship with B

You can find me on Tumblr at TheArtOne you can find the prompts at GizmoTrinket on Tumblr or on Twitter GizmoTrinket221


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: In order to keep the chapters easier for me to manage across three sites I'm going to have this chapter be a bit shorter than the others. Sherlock's POV Warnings: Scars, one sided mystrade, light mollstrade

* * *

 **Chapter 5: The Strays**

"Yoo-hoo!" Mrs. Hudson knocked and the men sprang apart. She entered and shook her head. "Sorry to interrupt dears but you have clients."

Said clients entered and the consulting detective told them to sit and wait. "I'll be back; I have to tend to our baby." He snapped at the couple when the older woman opened her mouth to raise a fuss at their lack of focus.

Right on cue Rosie started crying.

Sherlock heard John rearranging chairs and scowled. The consulting detective hoped it was something juicy with a chase that would be over quickly. But those were few and far between. Sherlock almost wished the case was too boring to bother with. Still, something that showed how brilliant he was to John was better than nothing at all.

Once Sherlock Rosamund was settled Sherlock checked his text.

From: The Woman

 _Happy anniversary to you both. Make sure to give him your gift. Now, go have dinner._

Sherlock smiled and wondered if John would protest when Angelo brought a candle this time. After all, the chef would have to remove a _"Reserved"_ card from the table next to the window this time too.

Two weeks later and nothing had happened aside from an occasional pat to Sherlock's curls when John left for the surgery. Although one time the doctor pecked Sherlock's cheekbone when handing over tea. But they still slept in different bedrooms; there were no snogging sessions on the couch- they hadn't even kissed properly after what Sherlock had dubbed The Door Mishap due to the unfortunate teasing Mrs. Hudson had showered them with afterwards.

The brunette blamed it on the case; it seemed interesting at first but ended up being quite boring and time consuming. They arrived home late and John fell asleep as soon as he removed his shoes. They never had dinner and Sherlock's gift was still hiding under his sock index. Plus, Rosamund took not falling asleep to her lullaby personally and had been a fussy insomniac ever since.

It was maddening.

John still hadn't repeated The Three Words since Mary's death. Sherlock hoped the other man was just waiting for the brunette to take some initiative. The other possibility was that John considered the third most important evening of Sherlock's life a mistake (the first most important being seven years and two weeks ago, January 29th 2010, when John shot the cabbie, agreed to move in and Sherlock fell in love only barely winning over their original meeting) and was just pretending it didn't happen.

If the latter was the case then why was the blond running his hand through the brunette's curls and allowing Sherlock to rest his head on John's lap as they watched a movie?

The stress of not knowing finally became too much. The consulting detective grabbed John's hand in the middle of the current popular movie John insisted the other man watch and took a deep breath: "By the way," he hesitated to bolster his courage, "I love you too."

John's hand stilled.

Sherlock was suddenly sure he'd made a monumental mistake. They must have a 'bromance'; one of those awkward (for idiots) close male friendships that other people mistake for a romantic relationship. He sprung from John's lap.

Unfortunately John had just started moving down and the side of Sherlock's temple collided with the doctor's chin.

"Ow!" They cried in unison. John continued, "Bloody buggering fu-"

He was interrupted by Mrs. Hudson. "Yoo-hoo!" She came in the open door. "I brought up some nibbles. I noticed yesterday when cleaning the fridge that you've not done the shopping in a bit and figured it'd be nice to have a bite." She set the tray on the table and plopped down in-between them on the couch. "Oh, The Princess Bride. This is a classic! I love a good romance. It's a shame it took them so long to come together."

Rosamund chose that moment to start crying and Sherlock left to tend to her. When he returned Mrs. Hudson was leaving and John was flushed tomato red.

"John?"

"Hm?"

The younger of the two arranged his features into the expression that requested an explanation.

The blond replied with the expression that said he'd never repeat what she'd told him.

Sherlock demanded sternly, "John."

Said man angrily replied, "Fine!" He glared while continuing, "I know you've deduced this already and am just torturing me but she said I needed to be nicer to you."

The brunette snorted. "Both ridiculous, I can't read minds and I could never find someone who treats me better than you."

John seemed to find that funny and chucked darkly but Sherlock had no idea why. It was true.

(-)

A scream interrupted any further conversation.

"MRS. HUDSON!" Sherlock shouted and sprinted down the stairs. 'No, no, no, no, no, no...' He chanted mentally as he tried to find the balance between not falling down the steps and getting to her as fast as he could.

She shrieked again.

The brunette was panicking, running through all the things that could have happened in his mind: Fallen down the stairs. No, there were no other noises. That ruled out shot as well. Of course, the bastard could have used a silencer...

The sounds of distress were coming from inside 221A so Mrs. Hudson was in her flat. The door was closed and Sherlock ran full bore into it, smashing it open.

"What on Earth?" Mrs. Hudson came out of her bathroom, sopping wet with dirt under her nails and flecks of mud on her face. "What did you do to my door young man?!"

The consulting detective was mortified. "You were screaming..."

The older woman smiled warmly. "Oh, _Sherlock._ " She said in an overly saccharine voice.

"Mrs. Hudson?" John arrived late enough to witness a muddy wet French Bulldog exit the bathroom and shake over the back of Mrs. Hudson's dress, causing her to jump and screech. "You little-!" She rounded on the beast and it ran into the back of the flat, shaking against two walls as it went.

"What's going on?" The blond asked.

"Obvious." The taller man waved the question away. It was boring.

John stayed for the answer and Sherlock heard it through the broken door.

"I found this dog outside and it was cold and sad and that just won't do." Hudders explained.

'Honestly!' The brunette rolled his eyes. 'But then...' he realized '...if she didn't take in strays neither me nor John would be here.' He sighed and took out his phone.

To: Fatty

 _Mrs. H needs a new door. -SH_

The phone rang and Sherlock stuffed it between the couch cushions. He knew what would happen next.

The credits rolled; the tall genius had no idea what happened during the movie and couldn't care less. He turned off the DVD player and the television and waited.

Three... two... one...

"Fucking little shit!" John muttered under his breath as he entered the room, carrying a squirming grey dog in his arms.

It fought him, wiggling and flailing in a desperate bid to get free. As soon as the blond kicked the door shut behind him the dog won and the man tried not to drop the little beast too far but still let it go. The dog fell on his side but got up quickly, running around the flat rubbing his dirty wet fur on every piece of furniture.

John left him to it; going to get the only medical kit that the "consulting pain in the arse" hadn't "borrowed" supplies from.

Sherlock allowed the dog to do what he wanted until it until tried to get into his bedroom. "No." He ordered gently but firmly.

The dog turned and looked at the consulting detective, testing wills.

The brunette raised his eyebrow. As if he couldn't out stubborn a small dog when he could one John Watson.

Any intelligent creature would know it had been beaten and this dog wasn't dumb. He bowed his head and walked a few steps from the forbidden door.

Sherlock squatted down and held out his hand, making each movement slow and graceful. "Come here." He requested soothingly.

The dog did as bid, nose moving wildly the whole way and the consulting detective smiled.

'Yes, this is a very smart dog.' Sherlock thought, lifting the calm animal and carrying him to the bath. "Now, I know you're going to hate this and I understand. But you're filthy and will feel better when I'm done. I promise." The tall man shut the bathroom door. "This is going to be a little scary but it's ok." He set the dog down and turned on the faucet to get the little beast ready for the loud noises the tub's faucet would make.

The small animal fell over as he tried to escape.

"Shhhhhhh..." Sherlock took off his jacket and his shirt. This was going to be rather difficult. "Shhhhhh. It's ok. I'm here." He let the dog sniff his hand again. The dog calmed and his new master set about covering the floor in towels.

"Ok, here comes the tricky part." He turned on the tub and adjusted the water before plugging the drain. Once done there he turned off the sink's tap.

The dog hid behind him the entire time the tub was filling and Sherlock decided the dog would never hold still and be calm if he tried this the traditional way so he removed the rest of his clothing, folded it and set it all on the counter. He climbed in the tub and waited.

Soon the little dog came to sniff the brunette's hand, licking a few drops of water from his finger tips.

Sherlock encouraged this, moving his arm further and further out of the tub and before the dog knew it he was in the tub too. He panicked and wiggled when he crossed over the barrier but the consulting detective soothed him by talking him through it; well aware that it was the tone of his voice and not the words that were calming the animal. Not that it mattered, really.

The dog picked out which shampoo he preferred the smell of (Rosie's) and Sherlock lathered the little beast up. He didn't like the rubbing on his wet fur and the consulting detective knew he didn't have much time before they both lost patience.

Luckily there was no oil or other particularly stubborn substances in his fur. Sherlock lifted the newly white dog, puppy really, out, wrapped a towel around the dog and closed his hands around the puppy's paws to get the water out. The dog was done with this exercise and Sherlock let him run around the bathroom, rolling over on the covered floor and shaking all over the cabinets as Sherlock drained the tub and took a shower.

Sherlock fixed his hair and wrapped a towel around his waist when he was done. The dog started licking the consulting detective's legs and now that the quasi-parent was positive the dog didn't have any fleas, ticks or other parasites that might make Rosie sick he let the little animal follow him into his room.

John was there, changing Rosie's nappy.

Rosie's Godfather wrinkled his nose, he was positive he'd never get used to the smell, he thanked god he'd changed out the bin John bought for something near air tight, and turned to get dressed.

"Sherlock?" Fingers traced over the ugliest scar.

Sherlock spun and jumped back, holding onto his towel so it wouldn't fall.

The doctor's hand was being held in midair. "Sorry, do they hurt?"

Sherlock shook his head. 'Not physically.' He refused to say out loud.

"It's ok, you know."

The brunette rolled his eyes. "Of course they are. Mycroft had his best doctor stitch them up as soon as I was back in the country." He knew it's not what the blond meant but thought this was a better avenue of discussion.

"I didn't... Wait-" John's eyes widened, "you mean to tell me that they were fresh when you came back?"

Not what the consulting detective wanted to talk about. 'Stupid John and his stupid medical training.' Sherlock thought sarcastically. "Yes." He answered calmly.

"When you came back, the day I was at that restaurant? The day I tried to propose to Mary?"

"Obviously." The taller man snapped without real anger.

The shorter of the two looked away. "Sherlock, you... I punched you."

"Yes." The consulting detective wanted this over with as fast as possible. "And nearly broke my nose and tackled me. What's your point?"

"I hit you! God Sherlock, I probably ripped out all your stitches and you didn't even-" John started breathing deeply and sat on the corner of Sherlock's bed. "You didn't scream. You just grunted. I didn't know..."

"I'm aware." Rosamund's Godfather sighed. The dog was sniffing the bin and Rosie's bed, he'd need out soon. "You thought I was off having fun while you were stuck here mourning." Sherlock started getting dressed; vest first this time instead of pants.

John was quiet the entire time the brunette's back was turned and he kept his back to the doctor for as long as possible.

"It's ok."

'It's not.' Sherlock mentally argued. 'I'm different. You're different. I'm hideous now. You won't want me anymore.'

He dithered but decided to put on his red shirt. That meant he needed the socks that matched so-

A rustle.

"What's that?"

Sherlock's move was slower than John's and the blond opened the envelope.

After reading the document he asked for clarification, "Sherlock?"

The dog barked at the door.

The consulting detective went to let the dog into the rest of the flat. "He needs a walk."

"Right." The shorter man nodded. "I'll just take care of that; I need one too."

Sherlock opened his bedside drawer and pulled a lead out of it.

"Why do-" John thought better of the question. "Never mind. I'll be back soon."

The brunette nodded. At least Rosie's father took the gift with him.

"Oh, Sherlock?" John said with the puppy dancing around his legs, wrapping him in the lead. "You can tell me when you're ready, ok? About what happened while you were gone, I mean."

By the time Sherlock nodded John had already freed himself and left.

(-)(-)(-)

Mycroft was at a loss. It had been weeks and he was near desperate for human interaction. Sherlock had been useless since his anniversary plans were ruined. The elder sibling wondered what on earth possessed what Sherlock to take that case. Maybe it was because John had no idea the significance of the date? The assistant that allowed the clients through the perimeter was fired and Mycroft had a headache. The best replacement assistant was Irene Adler but her history of blackmail was difficult to look past. She was smart and trouble.

But, work was piling up and there had to be a reason Sherlock decided to save her life. Was it simply because she cared for him as a person or was it because he saw something in her?

Oddly enough Sherlock was a better judge of character, especially when it came to women. Molly Hooper was a gem. She'd just given in yesterday and had her first date with the DCI. The doctor made him work for the kiss she gave him at the end of the night. He was intrigued and smitten and she was excited. She'd set her blog to private and started journaling again. She made plans and was making sure Gregory was worth her time. She was smart and focusing on herself first instead of a relationship.

Mycroft wouldn't ask Sherlock for personnel help no matter how much paperwork piled up. But a Molly Hooper with confidence was a force to be reckoned with. She ran the mortuary at her young age and each person she hired, she fought for, was more than competent and hard working. They never tattled when she bent the rules. They understood Dr. Hooper was on their side when they made mistakes. If she weren't so useful where she was Mycroft would be tempted to hire her as his assistant.

He picked up his phone.

Dialling Molly Hooper...

"Hello?"

"Hello, Dr. Hooper. This is Mycroft Holmes."

"Um, yes. I know. Is Sherlock in trouble?" She sounded professionally concerned.

"Not everything is about my brother Miss Hooper."

"Doctor," she demanded. "Please." She added quickly.

"Of course. Apologies Doctor Hooper."

"It's ok. Really." She paused. "Um, if this isn't about Sherlock then why...?" The doctor trailed off.

"I find myself in the unusual position of requiring your assistance."

"Really?" She sounded wary but intrigued. "Me? I'm sure you have plenty of other people-"

"No." Mycroft put a stop to her downward spiral. "There are few people my brother trusts and are therefore worth my time."

"What?"

The minor government official winced. That could be taken as an insult if she insinuated that her worth was only determined by Sherlock's attention. "I've been watching your interactions with DCI Lestrade and wish to congratulate you on choosing someone worth your time." 'Oh, god. I really am an idiot. Why is she so hard to talk to?' Mycroft had never spoken more than a few words to the woman and never on something personal.

"What do you want Mycroft?" She spat the words at him.

Which he more than deserved. "I need your opinion on hiring a new assistant."

"Oh." The doctor sounded mollified. "Well, I mean, I dated Moriarty so I don't think I'm really-"

"You paid him no mind and convinced him to watch Glee. He was simply a means to make my brother jealous. It would have worked if he were interested in your sex." He winced at his words. "I find your professional hiring record far more relevant than your personal life."

"You brought my personal life up first."

Mycroft sighed. He needed to unload on someone and he found her surprisingly easy to trust. Sherlock had talked to her several times about his problems with John and the elder brother finally understood why. "Apologies. I have... feelings for Gregory and it's rather difficult to-"

"Have feelings for someone who can't be interested in you? Yeah." Instead of sounding angry she sounded empathetic. "I know how that feels." She sighed. "It gets easier, you know. With time."

"It has been over a decade Miss-" Mycroft caught himself. "Apologies, Doctor Hooper. I admire your strength."

"Well, I knew that he was in love with John. I just didn't want to admit it." She sounded meek and it didn't suit her. "He just kept stringing me along."

"Yes, my brother can be a manipulative prick when he wishes."

She laughed and it wasn't bitter.

"He's my parent's favourite, you know. Plays up his status as youngest."

"You're not as scary as you like to act, are you?"

That irritated the powerful man. "Don't misunderstand me, Doctor. I can be _terrifying_."

"Oh, I know. But under all that ice you're a big softie." She teased.

Still angry she worked through his armour so easily he repeated his question with more force than he should have. "Will you help me hire a new assistant or not?"

"Sure. But you'll owe me dinner."

"I'm not interested in a relationship Doctor Hooper."

She laughed. "Not a romantic one but I think you need a friend." While Mycroft was stunned silent she continued, "And you can call me Molly. If you'd like."

Mycroft considered her offer. She was lonely too. She had difficulties making friends with her demanding job. She'd understand if he needed to cancel plans and he had no issues with her doing the same. "Well, Molly, I believe I can more than fulfil my end of the agreement." He was already looking through his appointment book. "Will this Sunday suffice?"

Molly sounded surprised. "Um, yeah. I think so. Where-"

"I will send a car. Do you have any requests?"

"Please don't take me somewhere too fancy where you don't get any food and everything costs more than my wage."

The minor government official chuckled. Then he started, he didn't remember the last time he expressed amusement. Or felt genuine delight- Especially during a conversation. "Of course, Molly. Are you free to discuss my "applicants" now?"

"I get off in an hour, but I'm free for the rest of the night."

"I'll send a car."

"Don't bring me to an abandoned parking lot or warehouse or something please."

Mycroft laughed.

* * *

A/N: I love the idea I came up with at 4am that Mycroft finds Molly slightly intimidating. It made me laugh. Since she's a BAMF when she's confident I figured, why not?

Prompts: Your character hasn't laughed in three years + OTP Idea #707 "I found this dog/cat outside and it was cold and sad and that just won't do."

I hope to have a new update next week but we've hit the end of the stuff I have written. :( Watch TheArtOne on Tumblr and GizmoTrinket221 on Twitter for updates.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: In order to keep everything the same across three websites this chapter is going to be a bit shorter. I don't think you'll mind. ;) Sexy bits are marked with a (+) if you're squeamish about that. This is rated M though so I felt it was ok. Tell me if it's too much. Prompts found at end. POV alternating.

* * *

 **Chapter 6: It's About Time!**

(-)John's POV(-)

When John returned he was damp from rain. He shook out his coat and ran his hand through his hair.

"No fine?" Sherlock must have known the dog was down with Mrs. Hudson.

"Shut it." John blushed at the mention that he'd forgotten baggies. He left the living room to make tea. "You ok?" He called from the other room.

"Why?"

John set the kettle to boil and came back.

"You're a bit red."

The brunette blushed deeper. "Fine, John." He bit the inside of his lips, something the blond found adorable. He'd noticed the consulting detective never had chapped lips like John sometimes did.

"I should-" the both started to say they'd check on the baby and stepping toward Sherlock and Rosie's room. The kettle clicked off, John went to get the tea and the taller man fled.

When Sherlock returned it was with Rosamund in his arms.

'Well,' the shorter man figured, 'might as well get it out of the way.' "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Sherlock." John warned.

The brunette huffed. "I'm not a mind reader, John."

"Why..." The blond felt his hand clench and tried to reign in his temper. "Why did you get those? Those papers?" Mentally he continued, 'Why didn't you show them to me sooner? Why were you hiding them? Did you ever want me to see them?'

"A child should have two parents, just in case. I thought..." he absentmindedly played with Rosie's charm "I thought she'd need another guardian."

"But why Molly?" John asked. _'Why not you?'_

Sherlock looked confused. "Because she's a woman. Obviously."

John sighed. "I already told you I have no issues with you."

"Well that's not true. You hate how I-"

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock, shut up! Stop!" The older of the two demanded. "What will it take? When will you get it through your thick scull that I love _you_? Just you. And just the way you are. Is that such a difficult concept?"

John caught a glimpse of Sherlock's face before he turned and hid it. It was clear that it was more difficult than the doctor could imagine.

'Fine.' The army captain thought. 'I'll just prove it.' He stomped over to the lanky git and threw a punch.

Sherlock leaned into it, body curling around Rosie protectively. "Ungh." He grunted when John's fist connected with his arm.

"See?"

The git drew up to his full height. "See what? What the hell are you doing, John?! You could have hurt-!"

He was interrupted when John grabbed the collar of the tall man's posh shirt and yanked, forcing the brunette to bend over. The shorter man mashed their lips together, careful of their daughter between them.

John reached down to Rosie's head and she gave a startled cry.

As expected, Sherlock freed himself as quickly as he could while maintaining a careful hold on his daughter. "John!" He looked positively scandalized.

John started giggling. When the indignity refused to fade from Sherlock's expression John's giggles evolved into full blown laughter. "Oh, my God! Your face!" The reminder of that case did nothing to sober him. However, the reminder of how short life could be did. John took out the paper and ripped it in half before throwing it into the fireplace.

"John?"

"Where's the other one you git?"

"What?"

John smiled, "The one you got for our anniversary."

The consulting detective brightened. "You remembered?"

"I counted the day after, honestly. Didn't know we were celebrating though. Never did before."

Sherlock made a face.

"Oh." John realized. "You tried, didn't you?"

Sherlock winced. "Only once."

The mood turned sombre. John remembered he'd been so worked up about The Woman he hadn't even noticed. He didn't even remember what Sherlock tried to do that day. If he were to be honest with himself he didn't remember much of what happened before Sherlock faked his suicide. John had tried to block it all out while Sherlock was gone all those years. Then the doctor had Mary. John figured Sherlock wouldn't have tried when Mary was there. Would he?

It seemed far too insensitive a question for John to ask. Thankfully Rosie saved her father by crying.

"Have you fed her?" John asked at the same time Sherlock said, "She's hungry."

John knew Sherlock had charts and notes stashed everywhere noting everything about Rosamund; what each cry meant, her weight taken every day when she woke after her nappy change while her bottle heated, which formula she preferred when (and the various cries that each corresponded to, that one was still ongoing), which shampoo she liked best (they now had seventy-four bottles of hypo-allergenic unscented baby shampoo in various brands and would have more had John not put his foot down) and Rosie's reactions to everyone she met. The blond knew the baby liked Sherlock more. It probably should have bothered him but it didn't. John knew Rosie slept in Sherlock's room because Sherlock couldn't stand to be away from her. The two had formed some sort of bond; as if Sherlock were her real father. So, while Sherlock was preparing a bottle and talking to Rosie in his rumbling baritone about how she was lucky to have John for a father John left the flat again.

Contrary to popular belief John wasn't an idiot. He was just always compared to people who were superhuman. John knew he was decently smart because he was a doctor. Plus, if he wasn't Sherlock wouldn't bother with him. At first John thought the brunette just liked the attention but when Sherlock came back Anderson had a near meltdown, calling him repeatedly. Eventually the man came to John to get the restraining order lifted. John wasn't in a friendly mood then and he'd slammed the door in Anderson's face. But now John understood that it wasn't just John's compliments Sherlock liked.

It was still raining so John ducked into Speedy's. He pulled out his mobile and dialled. "Hello? Mycroft? Yes, I've got it."

(-)

 _'Where did he get off? Where did that prick get off getting me papers to have Molly be Rosie's legal guardian?' John didn't want to take the papers out again and risk losing them to water damage. Because it wasn't a horrible idea. Sure, the baptism ceremony was nice but naming someone a godparent wasn't the same as filling out legal paperwork._

 _'But, why Molly?' John knew the only way he'd get an answer would be talking to the man himself. However, talking to Sherlock about raising his baby (hopefully with him) brought up the question that had been on John's mind since the wedding. He couldn't ask Sherlock to raise a baby, to make him a guardian of someone he already cared for so much if Rosamund would leave one day. It wasn't right. Sure, Mycroft could probably pull some strings but that wouldn't be fair to Rosie's actual father (assuming said man wasn't John)._

 _John found shelter under an awning and allowed the dog to wrap the lead around his legs. The blond took out his mobile and called Mycroft. Mike was nice but even though Mike already knew John's suspicions and they had a plan John couldn't place his friend in that position now that he was thinking clearly. Mycroft could be trusted not to lie and probably had already done the test. If Rosie wasn't John's Mycroft would be John's best bet to come up with a solution that wouldn't emotionally scar Sherlock. Plus John could ask about Sherlock's physical scars. The elder brother was the one who brought Sherlock back; he had to know what happened._

(-)A Week Later(-)

 _"Doctor Watson I'm sure you're aware I've already run the tests but I think it would be better if you watched the procedure so you know the outcome and that there were no mistakes made. I will send my personal doctor to attend to this matter. I assure you you're in the best hands."_

(-)

A black car pulled up and John hopped in.

"You really should check who is inside you know. I understand you've been kidnapped this way before."

John jumped in surprise, "Molly?"

"I'm to do the test." She smiled a new smile at John. It suited her.

The blond wondered why he never considered her to run the test. It was obvious, really. Sherlock cared about her so she was under Mycroft's protection. Why shouldn't she do the test? Hell, she'd probably be more honest and less of a manipulative prick about the whole thing if Rosie turned out to be someone else's.

"I take it you're surprised." Molly said flatly when John was quiet for a moment too long.

"Just didn't expect you to be in one of Mycroft's cars is all." John lied.

Molly shook her head. "You really are a _horrible_ liar."

"Sorry, I just don't really-"

"See me as a person? Yes, that happens a lot." She snarled at him.

John knew he'd messed up but he wasn't sure how. Molly was usually a lot more easy going and accommodating. "If you're busy I can do the test myself..." John tried, thinking maybe she was doing something important for Mycroft and upset she'd been pulled away for something so menial.

"I'm sure you can, after a few tries. I'm not sure you'd be able to work the equipment we have after being out of the field for so long."

"Hey now, I'm still a doctor."

"Oh, please. You fix the sniffles. When was the last time you've run a DNA test?"

John pursed his lips. Sure, what she said was true, but it still rankled. "Never." He admitted. If he was supposed to run one in uni he'd skipped that day.

"Well, this is going to be complicated and you'd never do it right. We don't have an infinite number of samples and you will just think you'd run the test wrong."

"Why?" John asked. He felt chilled, even though he suspected he wasn't the father he _believed_ he was. He just didn't know that until just now.

"You'll see." Molly said cryptically.

They spent the rest of the car ride in silence.

(-)

"Why are we here?" John asked as Molly just got out of the car and waited by the gate.

"Because we need some of Mary's DNA." She answered when he joined her.

Oh, god. John suspected he knew where this was going and Mycroft was right, he did need to see the test run.

(-)

The blond paced as he waited by the machine. Molly ignored him and spent all her time on her phone. Huffing at incoming messages but never replying. Finally her phone rang and she took the call into the hall.

After a few shouts and the sound of a mobile shattering Molly returned and asked to borrow John's phone.

John didn't want his phone broken but he remembered Sherlock's black eye and handed it over without protest.

"My, I need a new mobile."

The short man felt like his eyes were about to fall out of his head and the world had tilted on its axis.

"Thanks, hon." She ended the call and handed John's phone back with an innocent smile.

John was terrified.

(-)

At worst the blond doctor thought that maybe Mary stole the child from the hospital and had never been pregnant at all. Unlikely, he was a doctor. But possible. Of course, John was wrong. John was always wrong.

Mary wasn't the mother. John was the father but Mary wasn't the mother. She'd had in vitro done and John never noticed. However, the biological mother was dead so there were no concerns about a woman showing up and demanding Rosie. There was just one problem...

(-)

 _"Who is she, Mycroft?"_

 _"Our sister."_

 _"Sherlock doesn't have any sisters. Only brothers and Sherrinford is dead. So what the hell do you think you're playing at?!"_

 _"It would be best if Sherlock told you."_

 _"Wha-"_

 _The line went dead._

(-)

Said mother was Sherlock's sister.

When John returned this time he didn't remember anything Molly said. He didn't remember getting in the black car. He didn't remember the ride back.

The only thing John could think was that Sherlock only had brothers. So, why was there suddenly a sister? And what happened to her?

"John?"

Apparently John had walked up the seventeen steps in the same fog. "Sorry... I..." He fell sideways into the wall.

Sherlock caught him before he slid onto the floor.

"Are you alright?"

'Yes, but you won't be.' John thought. This would be the final straw. Sherlock hated his brother for what he did to their sister (and Mycroft wouldn't tell John what, exactly, that was). The doctor really didn't have the heart to talk about it.

"Come here. Are you alright?"

John knew then, that Sherlock had no idea why the blond was upset. The consulting detective probably had no idea his sister had ever donated eggs let alone had them stolen. And if he didn't know that he wouldn't know that Mary carried the child and said child was living in their flat now.

In a twisted way John was thrilled. It was wrong, so wrong but there was a part of Sherlock in the baby and a part of John and he couldn't think of anything better. He loved Mary, he did. And he wasn't done grieving for her. But John didn't love her the way he loved the man helping him up the steps to his bedroom.

Once they were through the door John threw Sherlock onto his bed. The consulting detective was caught off guard but it didn't take a genius to figure out what was going to happen next.

John flung himself at the other man and started kissing him desperately.

(+)

(-)Sherlock's POV(-)

Wait, John had him on the bed. John was rubbing him through his trousers and he was responding.

John wanted to have sex!

The brunette was amazed. John had said he loved Sherlock, over and over but Sherlock didn't really believe him. The doctor had seen the scars, after all, and the reason John liked Sherlock was because he was attractive. Sherlock felt hideous now and yet John slid his leg between Sherlock's and encouraged each of Sherlock's thrusts. The brunette started to inch up the bed, panting whenever his doctor allowed him a breath between kisses.

John followed, kissing less enthusiastically and more tenderly. It seemed he'd had a trying day. "God, I love you." The blond said.

The consulting detective knew then that John wanted him on a long term basis and felt his heart radiate joy. "I love you too, John." Sherlock felt his eyes water and noticed John's were moister than normal.

The shorter of the two took his time, caressing and pecking kisses into Sherlock's skin as he carefully undressed the brunette.

Maybe, Sherlock thought, maybe if he was lucky this time John would stay. John would marry him. They'd be together forever, just as they were meant to be (nearly a decade late). "John." He whispered.

John started undoing the buttons down the front of Sherlock's shirt.

Terrified John would stop again Sherlock pulled his best friend into another kiss, wrapping his tongue around John's. Filled with a need to keep John with him Sherlock flipped them so he was on top. John slid his hands inside Sherlock's shirt and read the scars though his fingers. Burn, whip, pipe, broken rib, burn, knife... The list went on and on. John didn't shy away though and his continual touches were enough to pull Sherlock from the memories.

The blond started pulling off Sherlock's shirt and the taller man helped his blogger undress him. After a bit Sherlock decided John was wearing far too much clothing and started removing it. They both sat in tented pants staring into each other's eyes. Those eyes started to roam and John licked his lips.

Sherlock was grabbed a condom from the side table, carefully keeping his back out of sight from the doctor. Some jangling interrupted.

Gladstone panted happily, staring at the pair.

"Gladstone, out."

"Gladstone?" John asked, apparently he was out when Sherlock chose the name and told him.

"Yes, John we have a new pet."

The blond shrugged and didn't fight about the puppy's new name.

"Gladstone, out!" Sherlock demanded pointing because the dog didn't know the command yet.

The dog shot his master a glare but followed the order.

Sherlock shut the door after him to prevent a repeat performance from the attention starved pet. He froze, realizing he'd put his back to his doctor and turned, scared he'd see an expression of horror on John's face.

But wonderful, brilliant John was just waiting, he extended his arms welcomingly and Sherlock relaxed. John didn't think he was ugly, John still wanted him.

The brunette wrapped his arms around his flatmate turned lover and decided the hug was far too platonic. He started licking John's neck, seeking all the places the blond liked. The love bites Sherlock had left earlier had faded and even though the consulting detective knew the doctor had been teased couldn't resist putting them back.

John could become over stimulated quickly because John was hard to mark.

Luckily Sherlock was up to the task. He made sure the blond was never overwhelmed or hurt. While his mouth was engaged Sherlock let his hands roam, tracing scars, moles, muscles and bones. John had lost weight, he was happy and working out properly again even though their diet left much to be desired. Deciding John was far too coherent Sherlock allowed his hand to travel south.

John arched and moaned.

The brunette smirked and reached for the condom.

(-) John's POV (-)

"You ok?" John asked. He had to make sure.

"Mmm." Seeming to realize this wasn't an acceptable answer he said, "Fine. I'll be a little sore tomorrow. Worth it."

John took one look at his lover, completely at peace in a way John had never seen before and agreed.

(+)

As they lay on the bed, tangled in each other enjoying the afterglow Sherlock pecked a kiss into the crook of John's neck before nuzzling along John's jugular and falling asleep. It was early still but the blond turned up the volume on the baby monitor and fell asleep too; the taller man's hair tickling John's nose as he snuggled his lanky brilliant consulting detective.

(-)

Crying woke the couple up. Sherlock was disoriented and John offered to go but Mrs. Hudson beat them both.

"Allow your fathers to sleep, dear. Goodness knows they need it after that." Then it sounded like she whispered directly into the monitor: "Congratulations you idiots. It's about time."

Sherlock was blushing from head to toe and John thought he honestly might die.

(-)

 _The blond opened the papers again, to see if the name magically had changed from Molly to Sherlock when a note fell out._

 ** _John,_**

 ** _This is the second set of papers my brother ordered. Do try to remember your anniversary next time; it would save my assistant a considerable amount of paperwork._**

 ** _Mycroft Holmes_**

 _It wasn't hard for John to figure out what Mycroft was alluding to. The question of Rosie's paternity felt like a noose ready to be tightened around John's neck, ruining everything._

(-)

John cleared his throat. "Sherlock?" The man looked at him and John nearly lost his train of thought. 'How can one person be so bloody gorgeous?!' Sherlock's expression turned worried so John asked his question. "What happened to your sister?"

"SISTER?!" Sherlock hissed.

Suddenly it was clear John had somehow made a monumental mistake. Knowing the woman was dead John thought it would be better to just dive right in. Like pulling off a plaster.

"I don't have a _sister_." Sherlock spat the word like a curse.

"Right."

"What did Fatcroft say? Why did you ask that?!"

The warm fuzzies that were surrounding the couple suddenly froze and died. "Uh... Nothing really." John didn't want to say anything that would make this worse.

"Except that fat idiot said _sister_."

"Well, yeah. I know about Sherrinford. That he died. What happened to her? Why do-"

"John!" Sherlock looked like he'd been struck. More sombrely he added, "They're the same person."

"Oh." The doctor had to think about it for a second. "Oh!"

"Yes."

"Ohhhhh..." Of all the ways John thought this conversation would go he didn't think it would go this way. Now John had to explain and hopefully after he was done Sherlock wouldn't hate Rosie.

Sherlock started pacing. "Sister. He was always so horrible to him! I can't believe, even now... That... I'm going to kill him." He ranted. "John!" Sherlock turned and demanded, "Get me my harpoon!"

"You're not going to harpoon Mycroft."

"Then get me my gun!"

"Mrs. Hudson had to turn that over as evidence after she used it to kill Moran."

"He ruins everything!"

Trying to distract the genius John decided to try a pet name. "Sherl?"

"No. Sounds like Cheryl."

"Right." John was glad his lover had stopped ranting even if he was still pacing. Unsure how to approach the question John decided to just ask outright so there was no confusion. "Is there anything that would make you hate Rosie?"

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. "No." He said decidedly.

He was so firm John didn't think to question him. "I want you to be Rosie's Father. Too. I mean."

"Are you asking me to marry you?"

"I... what?"

They looked at each other with matching expressions of horror.

John had intended to follow that up with a _but there's just one thing you need to know first._ 'Good job, Watson. You were clear a mud.'

It was obvious Sherlock's horror was of a different sort so John decided to shelve his problems and deal with the much bigger issue. This one could be a relationship ender if he played it wrong.

"Sherlock, you've said it before, I'm a romantic. If I were proposing to you you'd know it." John winced at the realization that he'd brought up Sherlock's best man's speech in the process.

"Yes, Mary said you were shaving when you threatened her with marriage. A story for the ages if I'd ever heard one."

Bugger. John decided to try and redirect. "I was asking if you wanted to adopt Rosie. You know, be more than just her guardian. But-"

"Why?"

"What?"

Sherlock looked frustrated. "Why me?"

"We've been over this."

"Why, John?" Sherlock pleaded.

Wanting to explain it in a different way John decided to use logic. "Remember when I punched you earlier?"

"Yes."

"Well-"

"Yes, John." Sherlock said with finality.

John realized Sherlock had already realized what John intended to say ( _I punched you to prove that you'd protect her physically and kissed you to prove you'd protect her mentally_ which was only partially true) and was agreeing to adopt Rosie. "Yes?"

"For god sakes John!"

"Sorry." John couldn't stop grinning. Even when faced with the important bit of the conversation the smile didn't fade. "But, there's something you should know."

"It won't change my answer."

"It might."

Sherlock picked up his phone, texting and looking bored.

In a fit of pique John blurted, "She's Sherrinford's too."

The mobile clattered to the floor.

(-)(-)(-)

"I'm not going to be your personal physician My." Molly frowned.

His face moved slightly into his version of a pout.

"No! We're friends. I'm not going to work for you. Remember when you gave up and demanded that I be your assistant? This is the same thing!" Molly scolded. "And making me find out from John! That was just cruel. Do you have any idea what he was thinking?!"

"He's an idiot. The only reason we tolerate him is he's cute."

Molly giggled.

Donovan came up and handed Mycroft a file before turning and answering a phone.

"How's she working out?" Molly asked quietly. The diminutive doctor was worried that Sally was too opinionated to work for Mycroft and had only mentioned her when Mycroft said he needed someone with a backbone. Sally was smart, untrusting by nature and a hard worker. She also wasn't afraid to tell her boss off when it was warranted. Of course, there were a few talks about when it was appropriate for such conversations to occur.

"She's coming along nicely. She seems happy to get out of the Met. Said that she feels like she's doing important work now and not just fighting sexist pigs for credit."

Molly frowned. "Won't that be a problem? The dealing with sexist pigs?" In Mycroft's line of work it seemed likely that it would come up sooner rather than later.

"Aditi said it was worth it to get to travel."

"She chose Aditi?"

My smiled softly. "I found it appropriate."

Molly made a mental note to look up the meaning later. "I'm glad she's working out."

"Yes." Mycroft frowned. "Now, about your problem with Gregory..."

Molly prayed he had something good. Her boyfriend wasn't happy she was seeing Mycroft so often to begin with. Didn't buy the whole "friends theory" and he was really angry when Donovan left.

* * *

A/N: Double cliff hanger. Bwahahaha!

OTP Idea #707 Bonus: "We have a new pet." + Imagine person A's pet walking in on your otp making out. I decided to take that a step further. :) Links can be found on my Tumblr: GizmoTrinket follow my twitter GizmoTrinket221 for story updates.

About Donovan's name: I had a lot of trouble choosing this one. I settled for Aditi because she's another goddess; this time mother to 33 sons (Mycroft's new employees and our loveable couple) instead of a jealous queen to a cheating husband and ruler of all the women. Like many other Hindu gods and goddesses, Aditi has a savari (a mount). Aditi flies across the boundless sky on a rooster. The rooster symbolizes strength and honour. I felt this was appropriate because I think instead of breaking down like Anderson she learned from her mishap with Sherlock and vowed to live honourably from that point. (Not that her actions that led to the fall were really technically dishonourable, she believed she was acting for the best of mankind and used the proper channels to report the issue.) This is why Lestrade kept her on and Mycroft agreed to hire her. Plus she's always been a very strong woman. Her name means "boundless, entire" or "freedom, security" in Sanskrit. Freedom and security being _extremely_ relevant to the job.

Source: wikipedia and behindthename dot com

Everybody go over and thank u/1227088/ for helping me with this chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Ok guys, going to do alternating POV here because it gets a little complicated. Warnings for chapter: transphobia and trans hate crimes. This chapter could be triggering so if you prefer not to read please leave a comment and I'll respond with a summary that (hopefully) won't be upsetting. Also warning for foul language because apparently I can't write anything w/o using the f word.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Mycroft's Fault**

(-)Sherlock's POV(-)

Sherlock thought it was impossible. Mary was absolutely pregnant there was no doubt about that. And Sherrinford died twenty years ago. So, how? "Obvious." The consulting detective muttered. Clearly Mycroft and Mummy had all decided to force Sherrinford to freeze eggs before undergoing the transition. Anger filled Sherlock in a way it hadn't since his teens now that he completely understood what happened to his brother. 'It would have been Mycroft's idea. Mycroft was supposed to protect him.' Sherlock thought. Of course, the clinic made sense now. The brunette thought it was happenstance; that Sherrinford was walking from someplace else and passing by the clinic.

"Sherlock?"

'It was _all_ Mycroft's fault!' Sherlock realized.

"Sherlock!" John's hands were shaking as the stroked him, trying to get him to exit his mind palace.

"Don't touch me!" Sherlock snapped. The sensations were warring, John touching him was good but the scars still hurt sometimes and he was anxious so no matter how gentle every caress felt like sandpaper. The hands touching him retreated and he calmed slightly.

"Sorry."

Sherlock ignored his lover. John's guilt was unwarranted and therefore irrelevant. Knowing the blond would only get more worked up the longer the consulting detective was unresponsive Sherlock decided he needed to do his thinking elsewhere. He picked up his phone, wrapped a sheet around his body (he knew John would want the dressing gown to get tea) and went to change. He wasn't sure what he was going to do to his brother when his suspicions were confirmed but maybe it was a good thing his gun was gone.

(-)John's POV(-)

"Mycroft? He left! He's gone. He just changed and walked out the door without a word!" John could feel himself trembling. He was terrified this time Sherlock wouldn't come back. That Sherlock was heading to one of his boltholes and John would find him shooting up on another dirty mattress. Or he'd get the call that Sherlock overdosed again and he wouldn't be there to help. That they'd be too late. That their first time would be their last time. "Tell me you know where he is!"

"Relax, doctor. We have eyes on him and we know where he's going."

"Well?!" John demanded.

Rosie was crying but John ignored her. His chest hurt, Sherlock would know what the cry meant but John didn't. He'd have to check her diaper, tempt her with a bottle she didn't want before he guessed the right formula. Or maybe she just wanted her father. Sherlock was always more of a parent than John was. The two had bonded in a way John had avoided out of fear.

"What happened, exactly?"

"What the fuck do you care?! Just tell me where he's going so I can make sure he's ok!"

"It would be most helpful if you could tell me-"

"Either you don't know where he's gone to and you're lying or you're not going to tell me." John seethed. "Either way I'm not telling you a thing. You should have said something so I didn't make this an issue!"

"Ah, I was worried it was about Sherrinford."

"What the fuck happened to him, Mycroft?"

"Her." Mycroft corrected.

Mrs. Hudson entered the flat again, carrying her baby monitor. "John! Your daughter." She admonished.

"Not now, Mrs. Hudson."

"She suffered from an affliction called gender identity disorder. We were working on curing her-"

"It's gender dysphoria now you- Wait, what do you mean my _curing_?"

Mycroft paused, clearly uncomfortable. "At the time it was thought to be better to _dissuade_ a person than indulge-"

"Oh my god!" A multitude of horrors flashed before John's eyes.

"Yes, well." Mycroft cleared his throat. "When that didn't work we agreed to sex-reassignment surgery but we had some stipulations-"

"You're a monster."

"Please, John. Don't be dramatic."

"So was Sherlock the only one who was supportive?"

"Our Father was also too stupid to-"

"Right." John didn't think he could listen to any more of this. As it was he thought he might vomit. "Murder or suicide?"

"I was supposed to accompany her-"

"Him."

"-back from the clinic but I was called away. She-"

"He."

Mycroft huffed in irritation. "-was cornered by some street thugs and beaten to death. Among other things."

"Jesus Christ!"

"Yes, well. Her-"

"His."

"She hadn't had the surgery yet, John."

"Doesn't matter."

"In any case, the killers were never found. I never understood it. She was brilliant, beautiful and loving. Why would she want to make her life so difficult? In the end it got her killed."

John was positive he would have punched Mycroft right then if they'd been in the same room. In a flash of understanding John knew Sherlock was on his way to do just that. Or maybe more than that. "Oh, god. He's going to kill you."

"Don't be ridiculous, John. Sherlock is angry now but by the time he gets here he will have calmed down enough to listen to reason."

John disconnected the call and ran to save the only brother Sherlock had left (even though he wasn't sure the man really deserved it). Sherlock would go to jail and Rosie needed her father.

(-)Sherlock POV(-)

Sherlock was shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He'd loved his oldest brother and Sherrinford was not only dead but _murdered_ when the consulting detective was sixteen. By the time his family told him the evidence was long gone and there was no hope of bringing the monsters to justice. Sherlock was well aware people liked to prey on those who were different but this was not another locker room beating.

All Mycroft, then twenty four, would say was to repeat what he said when Sherlock learned Redbeard wasn't sent to a farm. "All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage." The recently overdosed teenager had no idea it was all his remaining brother's fault.

Until now.

This time Sherlock was going to do something more productive than trying to escape through drugs and nearly killing himself. Murder was a much better option and _no one_ would catch him because this time there wouldn't be any witnesses.

(-)John's POV(-)

John ran into the Diogenes club blowing past Wilder without a word. He checked the lobby then stormed to Mycroft's office. The blond threw the door open with a thud and ran headlong into Donovan.

"Watch it!"

"Sorry." John apologized reflexively. "Where is he?"

She drew herself up. "He left some time ago with Doctor Hooper. I'm to monitor the situation with the rest of the team. You're to join us."

John tilted his head. "Nope."

She rolled her eyes with a huff. "You're more of a pain then _he_ is aren't you? Fine. Once I figure out exactly where he went I'll call you. He was headed to My's house."

The blond doctor was taken aback. "My?" He was wondering when the world became crazy. First Molly now Sally.

She blushed slightly. "Mr. Holmes's house."

"Right." There was an awkward pause while John tried to figure out what was going on. "So, you two are dating?"

"Of course not." She snapped. "I'm his new PA."

"I'm sure Greg loved that." The blond understood why he had missed calls from the Lestrade now. He'd ignored them in favour of his own drama.

"That's not my problem. And you're to call me Aditi from now on."

John remembered he had better things to do. "Was Mycroft at his house when I called?"

"No." She responded. "He was here."

The doctor licked his lips in irritation. He thought it through logically, trying to think like his flatmate. 'Sherlock must have known Mycroft was here therefore he needed to draw his brother out. But he must have known his rat of a brother wouldn't go anywhere alone lest Sherlock break his arm. Mycroft brought a doctor with him so he must think Sherlock's in danger of relapsing but doesn't want anyone to know. Therefore Sherlock must have a bolt hole near Mycroft's house.' John recalled searching all over for the consulting detective when he ran off with a bullet hole in his chest. In a flash the short man suddenly remembered that Sherlock would never let John help him change during the months away from Mary. John thought the brunette had suddenly gotten shy even though he'd never had a problem strutting around the flat in naught but a sheet before. Now John knew his best friend was hiding his scars. The blond swallowed thickly and shook his head to clear the disturbing thought. The closest place he knew of was the one where Mary revealed herself. With a curt nod to Sally- no, Aditi now, he took his leave.

(-)Sherlock's POV(-)

"Get out."

"The fuck you think you're- Oh!" Billy gasped in recognition. "Sorry Shezza. Didn't recognize you. Ain't seen you 'round much."

"I've better things to do than get high." Sherlock said honestly. 'Like revenge.' He added mentally.

"Yeah?"

"Who's injured?" The consulting detective knew he would need someone to distract either Molly or John.

"This girl here's got a nasty infection."

"Fantastic." Sherlock grinned at his luck.

Some of the homeless glared at him.

"Have her wait outside. A doctor will be here soon." The tall brunette set about cleaning the place up so Mycroft wouldn't have any excuses for a counter argument.

(-)

Sherlock waited in the dark. It was taking longer than he expected for Mycroft to arrive. There was an unknown variable and the consulting detective hated it. Finally a car door slammed.

Sounded like John arrived.

The brunette listened to the homeless woman confront the doctor and him send her to the nearest surgery with some money in the cab he just exited.

"Sherlock?" John called out.

At first Sherlock was annoyed that his plan didn't work. Without thought the taller of the two men called back. He realized when John joined him he wasn't torn about the doctor's presence anymore. John should be with him, always. "Where's Rosie?"

"Uh..." John looked sheepish. "With Mrs. Hudson?"

"You're saying that like it's a question."

The door opened again and both men quieted.

(-)John's POV(-)

"Sherlock?"

John went to step out of the shadows but Sherlock put a hand on his shoulder. The blond looked at his partner and frowned. John wanted to take a swing at the minor government pain in the arse but allowed Sherlock first crack at him. Once again John watched from the shadows.

"You were supposed to protect him."

"Yes." Mycroft replied.

"You failed."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I was called away. There was an issue at work and I should have been back in time."

"So you decided to leave our venerable sibling alone to undergo an unnecessary procedure in a seedy part of town because you didn't want to be recognized. Were you ashamed to be seen with him?"

"Sherlock." The elder brother warned.

"Were you jealous because I liked him better? Were you upset because he didn't fit into your plan? Because you thought he was a _freak_? Because of the three of us our parents liked you least-"

"Enough!"

"You couldn't understand, could you? Having "everything" and being unhappy?" Without waiting for an answer he continued. "You were supposed to protect him Mycroft. That was the deal. But you failed. Like you have with me, over and over."

"Sherlock!"

"Because I'm different too, aren't I? I'm one of those _freaks_ you detest so-"

"You're not like her."

"No, I'm perfectly happy with my gender. I just prefer the same gender sexually. I've seen how that frustrates you. You think I should be like you: able to pick from both but choosing the "right side.""

John frowned, he remembered Mycroft telling him to pick a side when they first met. He'd thought the megalomaniac was referring to him or Sherlock. Now he understood. He wondered how many times Sherlock had been told John had picked women because he'd hit on Anthea. Was that why Sherlock had said he was asexual? Because of internal (and external due to the reptile in front of him) homophobia?

"You killed him." Sherlock accused with no emotion in his voice.

"No. It was just an unfortunate-"

"No." Sherlock tilted his head and his voice took on an ethereal quality John had always found creepy. "It's too convenient. You see, I've always wondered why he was in that part of town. Why none of those responsible were ever caught. Why it took so long for emergency services to make it to such a violent incident outside a clinic. Why you just happened to be gone."

"What are you implying?"

"Obvious. You had him killed."

"I would never."

"You had motive, means and opportunity."

John was rooted to the spot. His breath left him in a whoosh and his insides froze.

"You're allowing sentiment to cloud your judgement."

Sherlock snarled and leapt at his brother. Mycroft was slow to react and his head knocked into the wall as the younger tackled him.

John couldn't move.

The brunette punched his brother over and over.

When Mycroft's head hit against the floor again and he coughed up blood John could finally move. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him off the prone man.

Sherlock struggled weakly to attack his brother again without trying to fight his blogger. John held Sherlock as tears ran down the brunette's cheeks, the blond brushed the sweaty fringe from Sherlock's brow and held the lanky man as he turned and wept into John's shoulder.

"Shhh..." He soothed. He wanted to tell Sherlock it would all be ok. That everything would work out. That he was wrong, that Mycroft wasn't responsible for their brother's death. But he couldn't. In all likelihood Sherlock was right and Mycroft got rid of their sibling to help his career. "Shhh... I'm here. I've got you."

"Why, why, why..." Sherlock chanted in between sobs.

Mycroft groaned and John ignored him. The doctor was happy the other man hadn't fought back or tried to defend himself but John worried what that meant. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and dialled for a cab and an ambulance in that order.

(-)

Sherlock fell asleep in the taxi and John helped the exhausted man up the stairs. The shorter man didn't want the baby to wake her father before he'd had a chance to rest properly but he knew he'd never be able to take Sherlock safely up another set of stairs so he dropped Sherlock off in Rosie's room.

Before he could leave large hands gripped his jacket, pulling him into bed too. John was tired, both emotionally and physically. He'd been scared when Sherlock didn't want his touch. The blond thought the consulting detective hated him and their relationship was over before it began. Normally when the brunette was upset he chased John out of the flat though and it took Sherlock leaving for the doctor to understand.

John was observant, sometimes. He understood that Sherlock had moods where he couldn't stand anyone touching him. It happened when the consulting detective was under a lot of stress so the doctor didn't take it personally. John was one of the few people Sherlock let touch him in the first place. Right now the blond thought his lover was hovering on the edge of sleep so he just wrapped his arms around the other man. He wasn't sure if Sherlock would welcome soothing brushes right now or not. John figured if Sherlock wanted him there the brunette wouldn't mind being held. Each time Sherlock sniffled John gave him a comforting squeeze.

The door opened and John tensed.

"Sorry." Molly whispered. She'd come in to put Rosamund to bed for the night.

"What happened to Mrs. Hudson?" John whispered back.

"It's bridge night so she asked if I could watch her. I hadn't seen Rosie in ages so I agreed." Molly set the baby down in her cot. "What happened?"

"Mycroft killed my brother." Sherlock rasped.

John kissed the top of the brunette's curls and freed himself to get Sherlock a glass of water. He could hear the pair talking quietly behind him.

As the glass filled John blinked rapidly. "God." He whispered. 'Just when their relationship was starting to get better this had to happen.' John thought despondently. He waited until Molly left the room to move. She nodded a goodbye while wiping her eyes and John went to provide Sherlock with what little support he could.

(-)(-)(-)

(-)Lestrade's POV(-)

"I don't believe it." Molly said.

"I don't know Molls. It makes sense. Sherlock's never been able to solve this one. I'd always just assumed he was too close but..." Greg shrugged.

They poured over the file together each making arguments for or against before getting a board and diagramming every scrap of information they had.

After her sixth cup of coffee Molly won.

"It couldn't have been Mycroft. Too sloppy. But it wasn't thugs, too professional." Lestrade agreed. "But we'll never know what really happened, any new evidence was classified. We have this much only because Sherlock hid it here."

"There's only one person who knows what really happened."

"He'll never tell you anything." Greg said, wincing at the light coming in through the windows.

"He doesn't have to. He just has to agree with the accusation." Molly countered.

It took Lestrade longer to realize what she meant than it normally would have had he had any sleep. If Mycroft admitted to a murder he didn't commit then he felt guilty but hadn't planned it. "You're so smart sometimes it's scary."

Molly blushed, recognizing the words for the compliment they were meant to be.

"I'm sorry. I've been an ass." Greg said. "I know you're just friends and I have no right to be jealous. And Sally left on her own. I can't blame you for that." After a short pause he added, "Can't blame her either, really." He was thinking about the Waters gang bust when he left because Sherlock asked for help and Donovan didn't get any credit for all the hours they worked. Greg got some purely from his position but Sally's name was never mentioned.

"Thank you." The doctor said, not waving the apology off with an excuse or dismissing her feelings like she would have in the past.

Greg found her new self confidence incredibly sexy. "Want to get some breakfast before you confront him?"

"No." Molly took out her phone and started texting. After a moment she looked up. "We could get dinner later, though. If you want." She brushed her hair behind her ear.

"Sounds good."

"I'll text you." The doctor said before leaving, her face buried in her phone.

"Morning boss. What's all this?"

Greg looked at the clock and groaned. He wondered if he'd be awake for dinner.

(-)Mycroft's POV(-)

"Did you really kill him? Your brother?" Molly asked, a dark shadow across her features.

Mycroft thought about his response before nodding. He hadn't called the hit but he had left after getting the call that his family had been targeted. Instead of trusting those in the governments employ to take care of it and protect them he left his sister- brother, exposed so he could read the note himself and meet the threat head on. No, Mycroft didn't order the murder but he was responsible for it nonetheless. He wanted to step down afterwards. The risks didn't outweigh the rewards. But before he could Sherlock went missing and the civil servant feared the worst. He used every resource available to track down the teen and knew that was what saved his younger brother's life.

In order to fight the rumours that he couldn't be impartial he used the excuse that Sherlock could be used against them and was a national security risk. Mycroft promised to make the boy an agent as soon as he was old enough. Many on the board had seen the teen's observational skills first hand and agreed that Sherlock was better on their side. Several stints in rehab delayed the inevitable. By the time Sherlock was officially MI5 the rumours were quashed by Mycroft's cold response to the incident.

The older of the two remaining brothers had to repeat his words to Sherlock over and over until he could pretend to believe them. 'All lives end.' Some just sooner than others. 'All hearts are broken.' He'd meant it about his ex-boyfriend the first time. They'd just had a messy breakup and Mycroft understood that sentiment had clouded his judgement of the relationship and that's why the end had been such a surprise.

Decades later he'd still use his sibling's death as a reminder that he couldn't care about anyone, family or no. "You know what happened to the other one." Mycroft had caught those responsible and they'd met a terrible fate. Of course, no one knew that but him and a fresh faced Anthea. He had a reputation as a man of ice and it protected those around him as much as it pained him to maintain.

Molly gasped and blinked away tears.

Mycroft watched her leave without a trace of emotion on his battered face.

'Caring is not an advantage.' He reminded himself.

* * *

 **End A/N:** I was concerned about adding a trans character to this story but I thought the benefits of representation, especially representation during the 1980-90s period which is not often spoken about (I find the argument that trans people are just a recent trend upsetting) was worth it. I can't find any numbers specifically for the UK about trans hate crimes today let alone from the 90s but they weren't (and still aren't) uncommon in the US.

I'd love to know your feelings on this chapter good or bad. Please leave me a comment with your thoughts, anything I could improve on or things you'd like to see in the future. Or if I completely fucked something up. Those comments are _very_ important. Thank you in advance.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Mixed POV again.

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Fear and Facts**

(-)John's POV(-)

Sherlock was in a sulk. Not his normal sulks where he just laid about on the couch in a sheet or ranted and raved across the flat with a harpoon because he was bored. This one was more insidious.

John tried to distract his partner with cases but even a ten couldn't motivate the consulting detective to leave the flat. Nor could running out of body parts to experiment on. Even running out of nappies couldn't get Sherlock out of 221B.

One day, two weeks into Sherlock's self-imposed imprisonment and nearly a month after the incident, John came home and the kitchen was clean. There weren't any mould cultures growing on old bread, no sticky notes warning John not to touch or eat something, all the experiments seemed to be disposed of. The microscope was gone and the only glassware John could find was for drinking, no beakers or test tubes anywhere.

"Sherlock?" John's voice broke.

"Hm?"

"What's going on?"

"Our life isn't conductive to raising a child. I'm fixing that."

The blond felt ill. "No. You're erasing yourself. Why?"

Naturally, Sherlock ignored John's question. "What happens when Rosie goes to school?"

It took John a moment to figure out what his paramour was talking about. "You don't want her to be different?"

The brunette didn't say anything, just stared into the empty fireplace.

"Sherlock, we're more than capable of protecting Rosie. And she's going to be different no matter how "normal" you try to act."

Multi-coloured eyes met John's. They were wide with alarm.

John smiled and walked over to the genius. "She's part me, yeah?"

Sherlock snorted and waved his arm dismissively. "Only idiots think you're normal. Given the general population if she turns out like you she'll be safe."

The doctor laughed bitterly before sobering. "She won't turn out like me. Thank god!"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, reading the history John wasn't trying to hide. How John had developed his facade out of necessity to hide his home life."Yes, you're right." This seemed to trouble the brunette more.

John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair gently. "Hey, it's going to be ok."

"No, it's not!" Sherlock turned his head so he was simultaneously leaning into John's touch and retreating. "What if Donovan calls social services? What if Mycroft tries to take her? She has the Holmes genes."

"What about it? Rosie's my daughter."

" _John_." Sherlock pleaded for the blond to understand without saying anything. When John just shook his head helplessly Sherlock's chin wavered and he looked away.

Rosie started crying and Sherlock fled.

(-)

John's phone rang, it was Lestrade. "He's still not taking cases." John answered without bothering with a greeting.

"John? Hey, no. This isn't a case. I was just wondering if you could go out for a pint."

Gladstone wandered in and John patted the couch. Jumping on the furniture when invited was one of the tricks Sherlock taught the little dog to avoid boredom. Gladstone hopped up and John scratched behind his ears. The blond was happy his previous owner was dead (which was a bit not good) because it meant Sherlock didn't have to lose the sweet little creature.

"I don't know." John was sure there was nowhere safer for Rosie than 221B and Sherlock wouldn't ever harm her. But the doctor wasn't worried about his daughter.

"They'll be fine for a bit. This is important."

John sighed, cast one long glance at the bedroom and agreed.

"Mrs. Hudson?" John rapped his knuckles on 221A.

"John? What's happened?" Mrs. Hudson was as if not more worried about Sherlock than John was and she hadn't even seen the kitchen yet.

The blond winced. "Nothing like that. Greg needs to chat and I need you to keep an eye on them."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" She whispered.

"No." John answered honestly.

Mrs. Hudson seemed to understand and patted him on the shoulder.

It took John forever to hail a cab.

(-)

"It'd almost be better if he wasn't still having sex with me." John lamented. He could tell Greg was uncomfortable but couldn't help it. He didn't have any friends he could really talk to. "It's like he's terrified I'm going to leave him if he does anything wrong but at the same time trying to change everything about himself." John sighed. "I would say he's trying to change because he wants to be normal for me but I think he's smarter than that. It's Rosie."

"Rosie?" Greg seemed confused by the sudden subject change.

"Yeah, he's scared Mycroft's going to take her away if he's not perfect."

"Speaking about Mycroft..."

"What about him, Greg? I'm sure Molly told you everything."

"That's the thing though. We're convinced he didn't kill his brother we just need proof so Sherlock will too."

Hope blossomed in John's chest. "Are you serious?" The blond knew that Sherlock practically worshiped his older brother. They both just pretended they hated each other and the betrayal was killing the consulting detective. The younger trusted Mycroft with _everything_ and this shattered that.

"Yeah. Molly figured it all out. Mycroft feels responsible but he didn't do it. That's why he's acting like that. And you know how his job is, right?"

"No." John was never quite sure what it was that Mycroft did.

"Basically he's in charge of national security. He essentially has free reign over everything but he can only keep his post if he's completely impartial. Sa- Aditi told us." Greg was whispering now.

Feeling like they should change the subject in such a public place John asked, "So, how are you and Molly doing anyway?"

"God, John." Greg sat back. "She's amazing. You have no idea. She's so smart and loyal and hard working and in bed..." He blushed and stopped talking.

"Yeah, she's really something now that she's gotten over her crush on Sherlock."

"Before then even. She's really funny in this weird way that is so adorable and she's not squeamish at all. Like, I could always talk to her about everything, even over dinner without an appropriate conversation lecture. And she would give me suggestions on my cases without being a condescending arse. Sorry." The silver haired man winced. John waved it off and Greg continued. "And she's understanding about my job. She doesn't resent me and hold the long hours against me. If I have to cancel one of our dates she shrugs it off as long as I do the same." The detective took a long drink. "We had this huge fight because I was jealous of the time she spent hanging out with Mycroft."

John winced, remembering the other doctor shattering her cell phone when running the DNA test.

"Yeah. Well after I apologized she forgave me and _hasn't brought it up since._ " Greg looked stunned. "She hasn't held it against me or punished me for it or made any of those snide comments or anything."

John knew his friend was comparing Molly to his ex-wife. Still, "You've got it bad."

"I think I'm in love with her."

"Congratulations." The blond doctor was happy for them both. They were well suited for each other. A much more functional couple then him and Sherlock. John knew he didn't deserve the brilliant consulting detective after everything he'd put him through. He drank half his beer in one go.

The thought must have shown on his face because Greg said, "He wants you. He's only ever wanted you. Are you going to hold that against him forever?"

"I'm not-"

The silver haired man cut him off. "I did this with my ex-wife, you know. Instead of demanding respect I kept making excuses for her and blaming myself every time she had an affair."

"Not really seeing the similarities here."

"What I mean is, as long as I believed I didn't deserve her she took advantage of me and I resented her." He put his hands up. "I'm not saying that's going to happen to you but why not try to be the man he thinks you are?"

John looked down at his drink.

"Don't push him away anymore. Please." Greg said softly.

The doctor nodded.

"And don't talk to me about your sex life." The detective said to lighten the mood. "He's like a little brother and I _really_ don't want to think of him like that."

"Oh my god!" John groaned. "You know how he has an oral fixation?"

"Shut up!" Greg begged while laughing.

When they parted ways Greg promised someone would let John know when they found something.

(-)Sherlock's POV(-)

John had a case. John had taken a case _without him!_ Sherlock was appalled. Sure, he hadn't agreed to take on any cases and hadn't left the flat in ages but still!

Sherlock thundered around the flat furious that John was hiding something from him. He kept going out with Lestrade too. They weren't having an affair or anything so pedestrian. No they were _working_. It was a juicy case and they hadn't said one word to him. They'd been doing this for ages too.

"Obvious!" Sherlock snarled one night. The reason they hadn't brought him in was because it was either about Mycroft or at Mycroft's request.

It was stupid to think people so close to him could do anything without Mycroft being aware.

Sherlock's chest hurt and he curled up on his chair with Rosie in his arms. He wanted to spend as much time with her as he could before John left and took his child with him. Not wanting to be left out Gladstone rested his head on Sherlock's knee. A little bit of juggling later and Sherlock could scratch behind the dog's ears as he held Rosamund. He wondered if they would take the dog too.

Maybe, if he was lucky, they'd send him on the short mission that was previously scrapped once everyone was gone.

(-)John's POV(-)

John came home and found Sherlock asleep in his chair. He had Rosie snuggled against his chest and Gladstone was half stretched down the lanky leg but half curled up by Sherlock's hip. It was adorable and John couldn't help but snap a picture.

Looking down at the scene again some of the warmth drained from John's chest. Sherlock looked paler than he should. There were dark circles under his eyes and he held onto Rosie like someone was going to take her from him. The dog even looked like he was trying to provide comfort.

John knew the depression was getting worse, anyone with eyes could see it. And John knew he couldn't keep his lover away from his brother forever. The two needed each other. Aditi said her boss was eating too much and working too long. The stress Mycroft normally kept well hidden was now obvious to anyone. The other PAs and employees were starting to gossip and some members of the council were shooting him worried looks. If this kept up he'd lose his job.

The blond had agreed with the others that they should keep both siblings in the dark until they could find enough proof to confront them. But now John was thinking that was stupid. Sherlock was irrationally jealous and possessive at the best of times and was also very insecure. The consulting detective was also very, _very_ observant.

John wasn't sure he'd ever know what was going through Sherlock's head. He frequently guessed and more often than not he was wrong. (Easy to do when your partner was wondering things like what the safest ratio of the most concentrated easily purchasable bleach was to make "safe" chloroform for the average adult male.) This time the shorter man was sure he knew he was right.

"Sherlock?" John asked. He nudged on the arm that wasn't cradling his daughter.

The brunette winced at the stiffness in his neck.

"Hey." The doctor said softly.

For a split second Sherlock's eyes widened in fear and he pulled Rosie away from her father.

John didn't want to attempt to put Rosie in her cot or do anything that might panic the taller man. Not having a plan or any other ideas John just dived right in. "We can't figure it out. We need you."

The response was immediate. "I'm not working for my brother."

"What?" It took John a bit but he worked out why Sherlock was thinking that. "Oh, no. We're not working with him."

"You're working with his PA."

"Yes. Sherlock we've got a lot of things sorted but we can't figure out why Mary did this." The blond neglected to add, 'Or who actually called the hit on your brother.'

"Obviously. You lot are idiots."

"Most everyone is." John said warmly. He understood Sherlock now and this wasn't an insult.

The brunette handed Rosie over and shooed Gladstone. John watched as the other man sat up, stretching only a little and entered his mind palace.

"Oh!" The blond heard from the bedroom.

John entered the living room. "Figure it out?"

"Obviously! C'mon, John. We have to go talk to Janine!"

"Wait, wait!" John called after Sherlock who was halfway down the stairs. "Mrs. Hudson is gone! We need a babysitter!"

"Bring her with us!"

"Then I have to put out the fire." They'd taken to lighting the fire whenever they could. Gladstone liked to curl up in front of it and Rosie liked to watch it. Since Sherlock hadn't bothered to leave the flat in ages it hadn't been a problem.

Sherlock made an impatient sound.

"Shut it. And go take a shower. You can't go out in your pyjama bottoms and no shoes." The taller man huffed but John didn't give him the chance to argue. "Go. It'll take that long for me to find someone."

(-)

Since Molly, Lestrade and Aditi all wanted to go visit Janine (and Sherlock wouldn't trust Mycroft) Rosamund was taken in by Mike. The good natured doctor pulled John aside and congratulated him on working everything out. He'd heard about John's wife and expressed condolences but John waved them aside. "It's different than when _he_ died. I'm ok."

If Mike could see the sadness and guilt in the corners of John's eyes he didn't mention it.

(-)Sherlock's POV(-)

"Sherlock." Janine purred. She went up for a kiss and Sherlock turned so she hit his cheek. "It's good to see you."

The consulting detective could feel John seethe and knew Janine could too. Sherlock cut off her little game. "Yes, yes. I'm a monster for playing with your affections. Now, shall we?"

She laughed and invited them in.

"You see," Janine said when they were all settled. "once my brother died everyone wanted to fight for the top spot but Sherlock was picking anyone off who made too bold a move."

"And Anthea was in the most power what with being Mycroft's right hand and Mary in second with her position with John but neither could make a move without being noticed. Plus neither wanted to hurt John. Mary had somehow heard about my brother and his eggs and decided to drive a wedge between Mycroft and myself using them." Sherlock said.

Janine smiled. "She heard about them from an old file Anthea kept just in case she needed blackmail. But then John here decided to call it quits with her and she needed to kill you before John was out of her reach forever."

"But Anthea couldn't have Mary sink her claws into John again. So instead of Mary being able to hire someone to kill me Anthea used the fact that no one knew her feelings for John to force Mary to pull the trigger."

"Of course. And as they focused on each other I was free to make my move."

"Since Mycroft and I were sufficiently distracted."

Lestrade cleared his throat and Sherlock looked up. He was leaning in toward Janine and they were smiling as they played verbal tennis. John was positively green with envy.

"So who killed Sherrinford then?" Molly said in an attempt to ease some tension.

Janine explained. "According to Anthea it was a group of terrorists that no longer exists. Mycroft hunted them down to the last man. She learned some very interesting interrogation techniques from the unofficial journey."

"I thought your brother hated legwork?" John asked.

"Yes. Doesn't mean he isn't good at it." Aditi said. When everyone's heads turned to her she blushed. "He's been training me. I'm supposed to be his body guard."

"He's too fat to train anyone properly." Sherlock scoffed.

John kicked his shin.

"I'll need all your files." Sherlock demanded.

"Yes, dear." Janine said mockingly.

"Why are you telling us all this?" Molly was clearly uncomfortable in Janine's presence so she cut into Sherlock and John's conversation.

The head of Moriarty smiled. "Sherlock and Mycroft need each other. As long as we're both under big brother's protection we're safe. Besides, it's always good to be owed a favour."

They finished their tea and John was made to carry the files. The group hadn't been there very long but no one was eager to stay.

They had taken two cars and Aditi pulled Sherlock aside while everyone was getting settled. "I never said I was sorry."

"You didn't have to."

She scowled at him. "Just because you know I'm sorry doesn't mean it doesn't need to be said."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. John said the same thing whenever he tried to convince Sherlock to apologize to Mrs. Hudson.

"Yeah, well. I didn't know that you were MI6-"

"I was only MI5 at the time. And I'm told that's kind of the point."

"Whatever. I had never met your brother either. I guess it was just difficult for me to understand-"

"You were jealous and you needed an excuse to vilify me."

"You're not an easy person to apologize to." Aditi said flatly.

Sherlock shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

"I hate you." She said semi-joking.

"Good. It'd be off-putting if you were nice."

They smiled at each other.

"C'mon! It's going to take all night to get home!" John called.

After they'd been on the road a bit John asked, "So, are you and Dono- Aditi friends now?"

The brunette frowned. "I don't know."

"Was she mean?" John asked from the passenger seat.

"No. She wanted to apologize."

"Did you let her?"

"Mostly."

John giggled.

They had the car to themselves now. Greg had ridden there with them but wanted to go with Molly on the way back. Lestrade clearly couldn't stand to be in the same room with the two of them after some of the conversations John and Greg drunkenly had. Plus, even though he knew it was ridiculous Sherlock couldn't help but be overly territorial. John was _his_.

"The only friend I've ever had is you. We aren't friends anymore, are we?" Sherlock asked, feeling really self conscious. He'd done research and every site on internet all agreed that if you were confused about your relationship you had to ask your partner to know for sure.

"Sherlock..." John's brow furrowed. "You know that Greg and Molly are your friends too, right?"

The brunette mulled that over. It didn't seem right.

"And Mike? And Mrs. Hudson? Although she's more like family."

Sherlock hadn't had any experiences with people he called friends that turned out good. Except John. But they weren't friends anymore. Right? Most people who called themselves Sherlock's friends were like Sebastian, using him and laughing at him behind his back. Not wanting to think about those people Sherlock asked what John was avoiding. "Are we not friends anymore?"

"We're still friends. Best friends. We're just more now." John seemed hesitant to label anything. "Why don't you think they're friends?"

Not wanting to admit his failings too much Sherlock shrugged and kept his eyes on the road. Without even a glance over he said, "There's no quantifiable measurement for friendship. You said we were colleagues when we met Seb and-"

"Oh, god." John looked defeated. "Sorry about that Sher. I was mad at you-"

The taller man didn't want to hear why John was mad at him then. It had taken quite a while but he figured it out eventually. The blond didn't understand the cheque was for him. Plus, he messed up enough as is. "Why do you insist on pet names?"

"I don't know. I've just always had pet names for my lovers."

"Is that what we are?" It didn't sound right.

"I don't know if there's a word for what we are, Locky."

"God, no! John!"

The car swerved and John reached over to steady it."Eyes on the road!" He shouted while chuckling.

John spent the rest of the drive back picking out the worst pet names he could think of until they were laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes and had to pull to the side so they wouldn't crash.

(-)

Sherlock read the files and burned them so they couldn't be used against them. The brunette then informed his brother he was forgiven by sending a text ( _Aditi said you're getting fat. Stop eating cake. -SH_ ). John had to field a call from a furious PA slash bodyguard afterwards.

When John filed the official paperwork for Sherlock to adopt Rosie he modified some paperwork to have Mycroft be Rosie's guardian if anything were to happen to them. Sherlock was aware and had signed off on it.

(-)(-)(-)

(-)Irene's POV(-)

"I take it John still hasn't called?" She dropped her bag at the door and went over to the settee Harry was perched on.

Harry shook her head. "But look." She pointed her phone at her lover. "Sherlock sent some pictures."

They were all candid shots of John taking care of Rosie. One of him feeding her, one of them staring at the fire and one of them smiling at the camera. Sherlock must have taken that one while he was pretending to text.

"She's getting big." Irene remarked. She watched as Harry winced. "You should try harder then leaving two voicemails. Does he even know you're out of rehab?" The blonde shook her head. "Does he know we're dating?"

"Yeah, right!" Harry laughed. "That'd go over well. Johnny's always been a traditionalist-"

"He's raising a baby out of wedlock with his male flatmate and they're probably currently cuddling in the room his wife was murdered in." Irene said, raising an eyebrow at her girlfriend.

Harry squirmed. "Well, when you put it like _that_."

Irene pecked a kiss to Harry's forehead and went to start cleaning her tools. "How'd that job interview go?" She asked while her back was turned. It would shield her lover if it had gone poorly.

"They said they'd consider me. Normally I'd be bummed but this is a really good job so the probably have a million good applicants."

"Congratulations!" Irene looked over her shoulder and grind lasciviously. "Sounds like you need a reward."

"Shower first!" Harry demanded. "I'll wait upstairs!"

Irene left what she could to soak and went to shower. She couldn't have hidden the bounce in her step if she tried.

Sometimes it wasn't punishment people needed. Oftentimes positive reinforcement worked so much better.

* * *

End A/N: Epilogue is written and will be posted next week. You can see some of my other work here or find me over on AO3 with the same username. Thanks for reading. :)


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I finally make use of the prompt: Prompt 21: Encounters with Santa and other things that may be better in theory.

* * *

 **Chapter 9:** Epilogue

(-)

John was frequently exhausted. Toddlers had far too much energy. And John thought Rosie was more of a handful because Sherlock was her father. Her favourite toys were Billy the skull and Gladstone. She learned all the tricks the dog knew simply by watching. John often felt guilty for telling his daughter to "Sit!" whenever she was wandering somewhere dangerous.

They still took on cases but they were more careful about the ones they selected and about calling for backup. Lestrade still yelled at them for being reckless but it was mostly for show.

Harry proposed to Irene after convincing John she was happy. Irene sat the doctor down and explained the drinking was under control and they'd never have the problems that drove Clara away. John still worried about Irene's profession but Sherlock told him to stay out of it. Irene and Harry were adults and John should try to be nice to his only remaining blood family.

(-)

Rosie's first word was "Sher!" While John stared in shock his daughter turned to him and said, "John." Then pointed to her other dad, "Sher!" Making it clear she wanted her biological father to take her over to her other father. (It was the only nickname Sherlock ever truly tolerated.)

This event led to an argument about how a child shouldn't call her parents by their given names. Sherlock argued that it would be impossible for him to call John anything other than John as he'd been saying it for nearly a decade. John said other people would think it was strange. The consulting detective had built up an immunity to that argument by now and countered with a question, "Fine, John. Who should be "Dad?" Or "Daddy?" Or should one of us be "Father?"" John winced at all the options and decided that if Rosie had a problem calling them by their given names she'd decide who should be called what.

Molly was called "Molls" since Rosie heard Lestrade call her that often. John had to retrain Rosamund from calling Greg "Graham." ( _"It's funny, John!"_ ) John didn't bother dissuading Rosie from calling Mycroft "Mykie" because it was hilarious to watch his sour face every time she said it. It helped that the couple had Mummy on their side. As John's parents were dead Rosie only had one set of grandparents to call Grandma and Grandpa. She managed "Grandmummy and Graddada" though. No one knew where those names came from.

(-)

A little after Rosie turned three Sherlock was alone on a case and took a two by four to his skull. The case was supposed to be simple and the consulting detective wasn't doing anything dangerous. It was completely unexpected. John scooped up his daughter when he got the call and demanded to see Sherlock as soon as he arrived. He was stymied at the front desk. John went a little over the top in his demands. He wasn't technically family and Mycroft hadn't heard yet. The minor government official was in an important meeting in a different country. John was Sherlock's emergency contact but Lestrade wasn't there and the staff wouldn't tell John anything other than "He'll be ok." and taking some basic information until Sherlock spoke with the police. The blond doctor heard "domestic violence" muttered by one of the nurses and wanted to kill them. Rosamund understood she was being kept away from "Her Sherlock." and was devastated when it was clear her cries wouldn't be answered. Before John got them into too much trouble by punching someone Greg came. As soon as Sherlock woke up John demanded the brunette man marry him.

Sherlock found it rather romantic even though everyone else scolded John.

John and Sherlock's rings were designed by the same jeweller that did Rosie's pendant but were made out of gold. (John would remain unaware they all contained tracking devices until Sherlock called Rosie home from Uni to change hers out.) Mummy settled the argument about big wedding vs small by demanding they hold "something worthy and proper to their relationship and the love it contained." Greg and Mycroft were the best men. John had to take Mycroft because Sherlock refused to. Everyone was glad to compromise to avoid a scene. Rosie was the flower girl. Angelo catered.

For a wedding gift Mycroft fixed 221C into a real lab. Sherlock had previously make-shifted the space but there was still mould on the walls, poor light and inadequate ventilation. The body parts still took up shelves on the fridge in 221B too as there wasn't another down there. After Mycroft was done the space was nicer than the lab at Bart's. There were several machines that took up too much space to go downstairs but Molly had no problems letting Sherlock loose on them. The younger brother grumbled about the gift but so little it was clear he was thrilled with it. Mycroft continued to use the cane-sword instead of an umbrella and no one mentioned it.

When Sherlock announced Molly's pregnancy it came out that the couple had been married since before John proposed. Sherlock sulked for a week at not noticing. Molly pulled John aside and apologized but she really didn't want Sherlock planning another wedding. The brunette went over the top and they wanted something low-key. The both wore their rings on chains around their necks to keep them safe and not bloody. John understood this because he frequently had to have his cleaned whenever he had to dig though mud (or, more often, things more disgusting than mud) for evidence.

(-)

Far too soon it was time for Rosie to go to school. There she learned about Santa and even though Sherlock was against it John took her to meet one. They both had theories: John figured she'd demand to know why Santa never visited her before and Sherlock said she'd see through the falsehood and demand to leave before even sitting on the man's lap. The results were a bit different: she told Santa what she wanted for Christmas and told him that her parents would had already gotten her gifts. She asked if he could get her a hive of bees to study because her fathers wouldn't. He said he didn't think he could do that and in revenge she exposed the faker to all the other children in line by pulling down his beard and ripping off his hat causing a panic. John had a picture to commemorate the event.

When they were home John explained how what she did was "a bit not good." And when the taller man of the couple thought the blond was out of earshot Sherlock explained how she should have used the fact that she knew he was a fake to blackmail him into getting the bees. Rosie gave him a flat look and asked, "If he can't even get a real job how could he afford an entire hive of bees?" Sherlock laughed and John had to explain everything wrong with that. He started by explaining that he and Sherlock didn't have "real jobs." It was Mrs. Hudson who managed to impart morals onto Rosie with stories of how her fathers were heroes whenever she baby sat for a case.

(-)

Knowing she could talk to Mrs. Hudson about anything Rosie asked why she had light brown hair even though Sherlock had dark brown and John was blond. She'd noticed when all the other children were dropped off they looked like one parent or the other. Or were adopted. But she had Sherlock's lips and John's eyes. Even though Mrs. Hudson knew she was being evasive she answered, "All the Holmes, that was Sherlock's last name before he married John, have darker hair and all the Watsons are blond. When you mix the two you get something in between. I don't know all about it. You'll have to ask John or Molls. They know about biology." Knowing if she left it there Rosie would be teased later she added. "Sherlock's sibling is your other biological parent." Rosamund decided Mrs. Hudson's knowledge was lacking and resolved to ask Molly later. Molly had to figure out how to simplify genetics so the child could understand and did an admirable job.

Rosie came to the doctor for other questions later and Molly continued to shine.

(-)

The first assignment Rosie brought home was something she couldn't figure out. "I have to draw my family." She said. "But the teacher wouldn't elaborate and I'm confused."

Curious John and Sherlock asked her who she thought was family. Sherlock thought she'd draw her biological father and herself. John thought she'd want to draw him, Sherlock and everyone in his family and herself.

Rosie thought about it for a second. "Well, there's you. Sherlock and John." She wrote down their names on a piece of paper. "Gladstone, he's my brother." She declared. "Mrs. Hudson." The brought the tip of the pencil up to her mouth as she thought. "Uncle Mykie, Grandmummy, Grandada, Greg, Molls and baby Carlie." Rosie had decided she was responsible for Molly and Greg's daughter's growth and development and John thought the two girls would probably end up just like Mycroft and Sherlock. Rosie pouted. "Probably Auntie Harry and Auntie Irene too, huh? Even though we don't see them much." She added their names to the list. "Do I count Aditi? She always sends a card at Christmas and sometimes she watches me while Uncle Mykie works." She added the PA and looked over her list before nodding. "That's everyone you say is safe."

"I think that's too many people to fit on your paper." Sherlock said for lack of anything else. He and John were both stunned at how big their family was.

"Maybe just everyone who lives here." The little girl agreed.

"And maybe not Gladstone." John added. He got enough strange looks from other parents without his daughter announcing a dog was her brother. Even if it was as normal as having an imaginary friend.

"Sherlock, John" Rosie wrote out carefully. "and Rosie." She smiled at her penmanship. No one else in her class could write properly yet. "Oh! And Mrs. Hudson too." She rolled her eyes at her near mistake. Then Rosamund made John fetch her crayons and drew three stick figure people and a yellow smiley face behind them.

(-)

Decades later Sherlock held John's hand on the sofa during a movie. The couple had retired to a cottage out of London to keep themselves out of trouble.

"It's strange." The greying brunette commented.

"Hm?" John asked, looking away from the latest James Bond.

"I had this theory that if I told you I loved you you'd leave. Or you'd stay and try to change me. Or we'd retire and I'd grow bored after a day."

"That's multiple theories." John pointed out.

"The results are much different." Sherlock said, completely ignoring him.

"And?"

"I'm happy."

"I'm happy too, Sherlock."

"You don't understand, John. I'd never been happy before you."

The retired doctor knew better than to argue. He understood that Sherlock meant in a relationship. Or probably in general outside of early childhood. After a moment John realized he felt the same. "Me too, Sherlock. Me too."

A log popped in the fireplace and Sherlock cuddled closer. Most of the clutter from 221B had followed the couple to their new dwelling. Some of it stayed behind. Rosie inherited the violin when Sherlock got arthritis and her son had adopted Billy the skull as his favourite baby toy. Much to her husband's dismay Rosie refused to put up new wallpaper the old flat so the bullet holes and smiley face remains. But the chairs came to the cottage as did the bull with the headphones. The drawing Rosie did was dog eared, worn and faded with time but was framed and displayed proudly next to a new smiley face in yellow spray paint on their cottage wall.

The couple shared a tender kiss before Sherlock couldn't help himself and explained exactly everything wrong with the movie and ruining the ending.

* * *

End A/N: This story kinda got away from me but it is finished and I want to thank you all for going on this journey with me


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